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miffysoo · 3 hours ago

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MARKED. part I

Ran Haitani x fem!reader

in Bonten, loyalty is paid in scars, and Ran Haitani makes sure you wear his. //

⚠︎ warnings. 18+ mature themes, graphic violence, toxic & manipulative relationships, explicit sexual content, murder mentions, substance use, strong language.

ⓘ tags. female reader insert, bonten au, angst with a messy ending, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, toxic romance, criminal underworld, slow burn.

masterlist

The rain lashes down in cold, relentless sheets as you dash down the street, your breath fogging in the chill. The dim glow of the restaurant's sign finally comes into view, a beacon of refuge.

You're soaked to the skin, the thin fabric of your dress clinging to you uncomfortably, and your hair plastered against your face. You mutter a curse under your breath for forgetting an umbrella, but the short walk from the bus stop felt manageable—until now.

As you near the shelter of the awning, your wet shoes skid slightly on the slick pavement, and you collide straight into someone—a wall of heat and solid muscle. The force jolts you back a step, and you barely manage to keep your footing.

"Sorry–" Your voice dies as you glance up, the apology withering on your tongue.

Lavender eyes meet yours, framed by long, dark lashes that seem out of place on someone this dangerous-looking. His features are sculpted to perfection—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and lips curved in a faint, almost lazy smirk. His hair is cropped short, the silvery-purple strands streaked with black, falling in messy, deliberate disarray.

The man is dressed in a fitted black turtleneck that clings to his lean, athletic frame, highlighting the sharp lines of his shoulders and chest. In one hand, he holds a lit cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the rain-soaked gloom. Smoke curls lazily around him, blending with the misty rain.

"Well, this is a surprise."

You blink, momentarily stunned, the deep timbre of his voice lingering in your ears. It takes you a second too long to realize you're still standing there, staring at him like a fool.

"I-I'm so sorry," you stammer, your cheeks burning as you take a step back.

"Relax," he drawls, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. "No harm done."

His lavender eyes remain locked on yours, glinting with intriguing intensity as he exhales, the smoke curling between you like a veil. You're rooted to the spot, your heart hammering.

"You heading in?" he asks, gesturing toward the restaurant door with a casual nod.

You nod clumsily, finally managing to tear your gaze away. "Yeah. I should, uh… head in."

"Don’t let me keep you, sweetheart," he says with a smirk, his gaze dropping for a split second as if taking in every detail of your rain-drenched form.

Flustered, you duck your head, muttering a soft "excuse me" as you scurry past him. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel his eyes on you as you push open the restaurant door.

Inside, the warmth envelops you, but your mind is still spinning. Something about that man feels achingly familiar, but you can't place it. As you glance back over your shoulder, you catch one last glimpse of him under the awning, leaning casually against the wall as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The sight of him, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and rain, lingers in your mind far longer than it should.

You shake your head, turning back to the crowd of familiar faces filling in the restaurant. It's the second reunion since middle school, and you've finally decided to come this time after missing the first one, but because of the rain, you arrive later than everyone else.

The first person to spot you is the girl who used to sit next to you in class. She hasn't changed much—her bright eyes and warm smile are just as you remember.

"Oh my god, it's you!" she squeals, her excitement drawing attention from everyone else. Heads turn, and a wave of recognition washes over you as you see a lot of familiar faces.

"You've been a ghost since middle school!" she gushes, pulling you into a quick hug. "I almost thought you weren't going to show up today!"

You laugh softly, brushing away her concern. "Yeah, life got busy."

It's the easiest excuse, one that hides the truth: the chaos that followed your parents' divorce, the endless financial struggles, the weight of responsibilities that had left little room for nostalgia or connection. But tonight, you've decided to let all that go, if only for a little while.

More classmates gather around, their faces lighting up as they recognize you. Questions and laughter flow freely, but when the conversation edges toward your family, you skillfully redirect it. You're here to reconnect, not to dig up old wounds.

Still, standing here now, surrounded by familiar faces and warmth, your heart aches for the younger version of yourself—the girl forced to grow up too fast.

As the chatter continues, your former seatmate nudges you with a mischievous grin.

"Hey, you remember Rindou? The boy you had the biggest crush on?"

Your stomach flips. Rindou Haitani. The memories come rushing back—those fleeting glances in the hallway, the way your heart raced whenever he smiled. You'd been smitten, completely captivated by him during your middle school years.

"Gosh, don't remind me," you groan, heat rising to your cheeks. "I was so ridiculous back then!"

Your friend giggles. "You were obsessed! Always asking his brother for advice, remember?"

Her words trigger another memory, one you'd almost forgotten. Rindou's older brother, Ran.

Back then, Ran was the delinquent everyone whispered about—the one with a permanent cocky smirk and an attitude that screamed trouble. He'd been in your class, always lounging in his chair with a bored expression, teasing you mercilessly every time you approached him for help with Rindou.

"Oh, Ran's here too, by the way," your friend says, jerking her thumb toward the entrance. "He just got here a minute ago. He didn't come to the last reunion too, so it's kind of a surprise he showed up tonight–"

Her words barely register as a sinking realization hits you.

That man from outside.

Your head whips toward the entrance just as he walks in. The lazy confidence in his gait is unmistakable, but other than that… the lanky, mischievous boy with an attitude too big for his body is gone.

The man who strides into the restaurant now is taller, broader, every movement exuding a quiet, commanding presence. His purple hair is cropped short, a far cry from the absurd pigtails you remember. Those unmistakable lavender eyes scan the room lazily, pausing when they lock onto yours, glinting with amusement.

Your breath catches.

The boy who once annoyed you to no end has grown into a man who's almost too attractive to look at. You didn’t even recognise him when you first saw him outside. But now, as he towers over other people in the restaurant, you realise the same smirk is still there, just as infuriating, though it feels sharper, darker, and sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

"Oh, there he is!" your friend chirps, waving him over. "Haitani!"

Ran's gaze never leaves yours as he makes his way to the table with the same unhurried arrogance he's always had. His smirk widens slightly as he notices the way you're openly staring. He reaches the table, his eyes flicking briefly to your friend before settling back on you.

"Finally remembered me?"

You can't find your voice. The question shouldn't catch you off guard—it's Ran, after all. But this Ran? The way he stands, the way he looks at you, the way his presence demands all your attention? It's disarming.

"I…" You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Yeah. I remember."

His smirk deepens. He pulls out the empty chair beside you and sinks into it, leaning back with an easy grace. His arm drapes over the back of the chair, his long fingers brushing just behind you as he looks you over.

"You sure? You've been staring at me like I'm a stranger."

You force a laugh, trying to shake off your shock. "You… look different."

"Good different or bad different?"

Your friend joins in, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. "Oh, definitely good. Right?" She nudges you playfully.

You don't answer, still grappling with the inexplicable pull Ran has on you now. Ten years ago, it had always been Rindou who caught your eye. But now? Now, you can't take your eyes off his brother.

Ran leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough that only you can hear.

"Careful. If you keep staring at me like that, I might start thinking you've got a crush on me this time."

Your heart stutters at the way he says it, at the way his eyes linger on your face as if he's savoring every moment of your reaction. The room feels too warm, too charged, and you suddenly realize that this is only the beginning.

It shouldn’t have been like this.

You came to your middle school reunion with the hope of rekindling old friendships, of finding comfort in nostalgia, of reigniting a flicker of the youthful joy you used to feel before the monotony of your twenties began to weigh you down.

The last thing you expected was to wake up in someone else's bed, let alone his.

But now, as your eyes flutter open, the reality of where you are hits you like a jolt. The unfamiliar luxury surrounding you—silk sheets tangled around your legs, the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air—only adds to the weight pressing on your chest.

Slowly, you turn your head, and there he is.

Ran Haitani.

His broad, bare back is facing you, but there's no mistaking him. The intricate tattoos inked into his skin—black and sinuous, stretching across his shoulder and down his side—are all too familiar now.

Your heart leaps into your throat, panic threatening to overtake you. You clutch the sheets tightly, the events of last night rushing back in fragmented flashes. The bar after the reunion. The drinks that kept flowing, loosening your tongue and your inhibitions. Ran leaning in too close as he teased you.

You were drunk—so drunk—that when he offered to share a cab, you hadn't thought twice. But when the cab pulled up near your neighborhood, shame burned hot in your chest. You couldn't bear the thought of him seeing the tiny, worn-down apartment you call home.

Before you could stop yourself, the words had spilled out: “Let’s go to your place instead.”

You remember the way his lavender eyes had glinted with amusement, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. He'd raised an eyebrow but didn't argue, casually giving his address to the driver. You told yourself it was the alcohol, the lingering warmth of nostalgia that made you let your guard down.

But none of that explains how quickly things spiraled out of control once you stepped into his penthouse.

The moment the door shut behind you, it was as though a spark ignited the air. His hands were on you before you could catch your breath, your body responding as though it had been waiting for this moment all along. Clothes fell to the floor, forgotten in the haze of heat and desperation.

You could still feel the way he kissed you as if he were starving, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made you forget how to breathe. He'd lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

Ran had taken his time exploring every inch of you, his touch alternating between soft and rough, calculated yet passionate. He'd teased you mercilessly, drawing out every reaction he could, his smirk never wavering as he watched you unravel beneath him, and good god, you’d just been so helpless against him.

When he finally aligned himself and thrust into you, it was like everything else faded away. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that felt almost too much, yet perfect all at once. The way he moved was devastating, each thrust calculated to hit just the right spot, drawing moans from your lips that you couldn’t hope to stifle.

By the time you'd fallen asleep, your body exhausted and your mind spinning, you'd been too consumed by him to feel the weight of your actions. It had felt too good, too right in the moment to question it.

But now, in the cold light of morning, reality was setting in.

As you sit up slowly, your body aching from his attentions, your throat dry, you try to steady your breathing. The shirt you pick up from the floor—a soft, oversized one that probably belongs to him—feels like both a shield and a reminder of the mistakes you’ve made.

You slip it over your head and carefully slide out of bed, your eyes flicking back to him. Even in sleep, he’s devastating, but there’s a calmness to his features now, a stark contrast to the intensity he'd shown last night. You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you pad quietly toward the door.

The luxurious silence of Ran’s penthouse presses in around you, broken only by the soft hum of the city outside. The floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a breathtaking view of Tokyo’s morning skyline, golden sunlight streaming in to bathe the sleek, modern space in a warm glow. It’s the kind of view you’ve only ever seen in magazines, far removed from the grime-streaked windows of your modest apartment.

You know for a fact that you have no business envying this life, no right to let yourself feel jealousy or longing. You remind yourself: a stable 9-to-5 job, a roof over your head—those are blessings, things you worked hard to secure. There’s no place for fantasy here.

Reluctantly, you tear your gaze away and move through the hallway, the plush carpet muffling your steps as you head toward what you assume is the kitchen. Every inch of the space screams opulence—pristine white walls, abstract art pieces worth more than your yearly salary, and the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. The kitchen is no less grand. Marble countertops, sleek black appliances, and an island big enough to host a feast.

But your curiosity fades the moment your eyes land on something at the counter—a black object, sleek and unmistakable.

A gun.

Your breath catches, and you instinctively clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the gasp threatening to escape. Firearms are illegal in Japan—everyone knows that. Seeing one here, casually placed on the counter like a forgotten trinket, sends a shiver down your spine. Your gaze flickers back to the bedroom, a whirlwind of memories and realizations flooding your mind.

Ran’s tattoos. You’ve seen them before—always there, marking his skin since his delinquent years—but last night, in the throes of passion, you noticed new ones, darker and more intricate. One in particular stood out, etched right on his throat. You’d traced it with your fingers as you lay beneath him, your curiosity piqued even amidst the haze of desire.

“What’s this one mean?” you’d asked softly.

He didn’t answer. He’d only smirked before leaning down to kiss you, stealing the question —and any coherent thought—right out of your mind.

Now it all clicks together—or, at least, pieces of it do. The tattoos. The gun. The penthouse. The effortless luxury that surrounds him.

Who the hell is Ran Haitani now?

Your stomach churns as the weight of regret presses down on you. You should’ve asked questions before you let him have you. You should’ve cared more about the man he’s become, not just the smooth-talking, devastatingly handsome boy you once knew. Now, standing here with the evidence of his dangerous lifestyle staring you in the face, you feel like a fool.

Your legs tremble as you take a step back, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The only thought in your head is to get out of here.

But before you can move another inch, a deep, familiar voice slices through the quiet.

“Thinking of running away now?”

You whirl around so fast you nearly trip over your own feet. There he stands, leaning casually against the doorway, dressed in nothing but a loosely tied bathrobe. The fabric clings to him, revealing far too much—the toned planes of his chest, the taut muscles of his abdomen, the teasing hint of a bulge that has a shameful heat curling in your stomach despite the panic.

Ran’s lavender eyes flick to the gun on the counter, then back to you, his expression unreadable.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to snoop,” he says.

“I-I wasn’t.”

“Then why do you look so scared?”

Your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. Your gaze is drawn to his throat, to the tattoo that's been gnawing at your mind. It's achingly familiar, like a piece of a puzzle you can't quite fit together. It feels important—significant—but why?

“Ran,” you manage, your voice trembling, “who… who are you?”

His lips curl into a slow, wicked grin. “Whoever you want me to be.”

Your stomach churns as he pushes off the doorframe and starts toward you, his movements unhurried yet deliberate. Panic claws at your chest, and without thinking, you grab the gun from the counter and point it at him. Your hands are shaking so badly that the barrel wobbles, but you’re too freaked out to care.

“Don’t come any closer!”

Ran stops, but there isn't a hint of fear on his face. In fact, he looks entertained, like this is all some kind of game.

“Calm down, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, the trembling in your voice betraying your fear.

“Fine.” He takes another step forward, completely unbothered by the gun aimed at him. “Calm down, baby.”

“That too!”

He tilts his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Didn't seem to mind it last night, did you?"

Your cheeks burn as the memories hit you—his hands on your skin, his voice murmuring that same word against your ear. Shame and fear twist in your stomach, and you shake your head violently, trying to block out the images. Your grip on the gun tightens, though it feels heavier by the second.

Ran's eyes flick to the weapon, his smirk widening. "It's not loaded, you know."

Your panic spikes. The gun suddenly feels useless in your hands. He’s toying with you, and he knows it. Your eyes dart to the door, desperate for an escape. That's when you see them—his car keys hanging on the wall by the door.

Without thinking, you make a split-second decision. Dropping the gun onto the counter, you bolt for the keys, snatching them off the hook and fumbling for the door as adrenaline propels you forward.

“Really?” he drawls. “Stealing my car? That's cute.”

You don't stop to look back. Your breath is coming in short, frantic gasps as you yank the door open and sprint down the hallway. The keys dig into your palm, but you don't care. All you can think about is getting away.

Behind you, you can still hear him calling after you, his voice laced with lazy amusement.

"Drive safe, baby. I'd hate to see you hurt yourself."

Tears prick at your eyes as you run, your legs trembling with the effort. You don't dare look back, but you can feel his gaze following your every move. Even as you reach the elevator, jamming the button with shaky fingers, the weight of his presence lingers, a silent promise that this isn't over.

The engine roars, filling the silence as you grip the wheel tighter, knuckles pale against the dark leather. Each passing second feels like a heartbeat, the noise amplified by your own frantic breathing.

“What the hell am I doing?”

The thought screams in your mind, over and over again. You barely register the opulence of the car’s interior—sleek, polished chrome details, the subtle scent of leather—because it isn't yours. This car isn't yours.

You stole it.

The thought sends another wave of anxiety crashing over you. Your decision to grab Ran’s car keys was desperate, fueled by sheer survival instinct after everything that happened back at his penthouse. It wasn’t until you were speeding away that the full weight of your actions hit you—especially the realization that you’ve left your phone in his bedroom. Your only lifeline to the outside world, your contacts, everything important to you, is now sitting on his nightstand, probably right where you dropped it last night.

But there’s no way you're going back. Not after this.

You glance at the road ahead, your inexperience glaringly obvious as you awkwardly navigate the oversized car. Your driver's license is little more than a formality; you've barely driven since you got it, and definitely never anything this massive or this expensive. Panic has you gripping the wheel too tightly as you opt for the emptiest road you can find, praying to avoid drawing attention.

But the quiet road offers no comfort. A sudden blur of fur darts into the road—a cat. You gasp, jerking the wheel to avoid it. The car swerves wildly, veering off the pavement and straight into a tree.

The impact jolts through you like a lightning strike. You scream, clutching the wheel as the hood crumples and smoke begins to seep from the engine. Then the smell hits you—burning oil, acrid and suffocating.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you curse under your breath as you fumble with the door handle.

Your hands tremble so violently that it takes several tries to push the door open. You stumble out, legs giving way as you collapse to the ground, dirt and gravel biting into your knees.

As your gaze locks on the car, its sleek frame now marred by the crash, you clutch your head, the realization hitting you like a freight train.

You've wrecked his car.

The thought of facing Ran Haitani again makes your stomach churn violently. The man you'd just slept with, stolen from, and now owe a very expensive apology to. No. There's just no way in hell you're going back.

Adrenaline surges through your veins as you scramble to your feet, glancing wildly at your surroundings. The oversized shirt you wear clings to your damp skin, its hem brushing just past your thighs. Barefoot and exposed, you feel a rush of vulnerability as sharp as the cool morning air biting at your skin.

You aren't prepared for this—hell, you aren't prepared for any of this.

But you can't stay. Not here, not in this mess. So, you do the only thing you can think of—you run.

The pavement is rough beneath your bare feet, and every step sends a jolt of pain up your legs, but you don't stop. Your lungs burn as you keep glancing over your shoulder, terrified of seeing Ran’s towering figure chasing after you. You can almost hear his mocking voice in your head: “Stealing my car? That’s cute.”

By the time you reach a bus station, your legs feel like jelly, and you're gasping for air. Sweat clings to your skin, and your disheveled appearance draws stares from the few people waiting. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you look like—oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder, bare legs, barefoot.

It screams walk of shame.

You spot a kind-looking woman in her 30s, standing near the bench, her gaze meeting yours.

“Please,” you gasp, swallowing your pride as you practically beg, “I need some money for the ride. Just enough to get me out of here.”

She hesitates, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, but eventually, she digs into her wallet and hands you a few bills.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the lump in your throat making your voice shaky.

Clutching the money, you board the bus, slinking into a seat at the back. You don't dare look out of the window, afraid you'll see him there, watching, waiting.

Still, as the city blurs past, you can't shake him from your thoughts. His wicked smirk, the lazy amusement in his voice, the tattoo on his throat you can't stop thinking about. Even now, the memory of it lingers, haunting you like a ghost.

What does it mean? Why does it feel so familiar?

You press your forehead against the window, eyes burning with unshed tears. No answers come, just the weight of your choices and the growing fear that this isn't the last you've seen of him.

Several days have passed since that fateful morning when you woke up in Ran Haitani’s bed—the same morning you fled his penthouse, stole his car, crashed it, and ran off into the unknown. You left everything behind: your dignity, your nerve, and most damning of all, your phone.

Your life since then is a blur of guilt and fear, but mostly fear. You’ve debated a thousand times whether you should find a public phone, dial your own number, and beg for mercy when he picks up. But each time you think of hearing his voice again, you’re left paralyzed by the thought of what he might say—or worse, what he might do.

Tonight, you sit on the couch in your cramped apartment, trying to drown out your anxiety with the cheap, flickering buzz of your ancient TV. The small room feels heavier than usual, the peeling wallpaper and dim light only amplifying the suffocating silence. The instant noodles you made sit untouched on the counter, forgotten.

You flip through the channels mindlessly until a headline flashes across the screen, and your entire world froze.

“Bonten: Japan’s Most Feared Criminal Syndicate.”

It’s not the words that hit you, but the image accompanying them—a man with silver hair, his back turned to the camera, standing in front of a towering building. The tattoo sprawled across the nape of his neck is unmistakable.

Your breath catches.

The tattoo.

You know it. You’ve seen it. You’ve traced it. Days ago, your fingers had brushed across Ran Haitani’s throat, your mind turning in circles, trying to place why it felt so familiar. Now, you know.

Your heart pounds as the realization sinks in. Ran Haitani is… Bonten.

Not just a member, either. He has to be someone important. That penthouse, the aura of command, the weight of that tattoo—it all scream power. The kind of power that don’t forgive mistakes like yours.

The TV drones on, the reporter listing Bonten’s ruthless activities, but the words barely register. Your mind reels as you try to reconcile the Ran you once knew with the man you fled from. The same Ran who wore his hair in pigtails, claiming it kept his hair out of his face during fights. The same Ran who teased you mercilessly when he found out you had a crush on his brother, Rindou. The same Ran who told you to fix your fashion sense before trying to impress anyone.

You remember the time he tricked you into baking Rindou a cake, only for Rindou to reject it outright, claiming he hated “fatty foods”. You remember the way you cried in the hallway, and the guilt in Ran’s eyes when he found you. He hadn’t even liked cake himself, but he’d eaten every bite of yours, mumbling that it “wasn’t half bad” just to make you smile.

That Ran is worlds away from the man whose gun you’d seen on his counter, whose smirk had followed you as you bolted out the door.

You shut the TV off, but it's too late. The damage is done. The news anchor's last words are already seared into your brain.

“Bonten is known to deal harshly with anyone who betrays or crosses them. Bounties on traitors have reached record highs.”

Your pulse thunders in your ears. Betrayal. You don't need a dictionary to understand what you've done—stealing his car, crashing it, and running away like the thief you are.

Even now, sitting in the darkened silence of your apartment, you can't shake the creeping dread. Every noise outside your door makes you flinch. Every gust of wind sounds like footsteps. You cling to the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, Ran will brush it off as a minor annoyance. That your betrayal isn't worth chasing.

But deep down, you know better. Ran Haitani isn't the type to let things slide.

You fumble with the key to your apartment, your hands shaking slightly from the exhaustion of yet another grueling day.

Work has been relentless this week—overtime every day, a seemingly endless pile of reports, and a boss who still refuses to acknowledge your efforts. The dark outside only adds to your unease, especially in this neighborhood where whispers of crime seem to linger in every shadow.

The door creaks open, and you step inside hurriedly before slamming it shut behind you. You run a hand through your hair, exhaling your frustrations into the darkness, while your legs move on autopilot down the hall. The quiet of your tiny apartment feels heavy tonight, pressing in from all sides, but you tell yourself it’s just your imagination.

It isn’t until you reach the threshold of the living room that the air leaves your lungs entirely.

The light flares to life as you flip the switch, illuminating the small, worn couch at the center of the room.

And him.

Ran Haitani.

He’s sprawled there like he belongs, his lean frame draped lazily against the cushions, one arm slung over the backrest. He’s dressed impeccably—dark slacks and a tailored suit, the kind of outfit that speaks of power and wealth. The overhead light catches the gleam of his throat tattoo, the mark that feels like a death sentence now that you know what it represents.

Bonten.

Your breath catches as you stagger back a step, your shoulders hitting the wall with a dull thud. A single thought claws through the fog of panic in your mind: He found me.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he drawls lazily, as if he isn’t breaking every boundary by being here. “Miss me?”

You swallow hard, your throat dry, but the fear coursing through you quickly ignites into a shaky, brittle anger.

“How did you get inside?” you snap, your voice coming out higher than you intended.

His smirk deepens, and the glint in his eyes sharpens, amusement dancing in their depths. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers lacing together.

“Let’s just say your locks weren’t exactly… a challenge.” He tilts his head slightly, watching you with an almost clinical curiosity. “You should be more careful. Not everyone who lets themselves in has good intentions.”

His words hang in the air like a guillotine, and you feel your breath hitch, his message ringing loud and clear. He’s not just teasing you—he’s reminding you exactly what kind of person he is.

Your pulse thunders in your ears, panic twisting your thoughts into an incoherent tangle. Instinct takes over as you whip around, heading for the wardrobe near the corner of the room. You yank it open with trembling hands, digging frantically through the disorganized contents. Somewhere in the chaos, there’s a taser—a small, comforting piece of security you’d stashed there months ago.

But your fingers slip over fabric and junk, coming up empty, your search turning more desperate with each passing second.

Behind you, Ran’s voice cuts through your panic. “Looking for this?”

You whirl around, your panic doubling when you see him holding the taser in his hand, his long fingers toying with it as if it’s a mere trinket. The smirk on his face is infuriatingly calm, like he’s enjoying the game.

Without thinking, you grab the nearest thing your hands touch—a crumpled sweater—and hurl it at him with a sharp cry.

“Get out!” you scream, your voice cracking as you grab another item and throw it. “Get out of my house!”

Ran sighs, dodging the flying clothes with infuriating ease.

“You’re being dramatic,” he mutters, brushing off an errant piece of fabric that lands on his shoulder as though it’s nothing more than a speck of dust. “You’re going to tire yourself out at this rate–”

His sentence is cut off when a shirt lands squarely on his face.

The room plunges into silent.

You freeze, watching as he slowly lowers the offending garment. His movements are agonizingly slow, and when his eyes meet yours again, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen. His jaw tightens, his irritation palpable.

“Feel better now?”

You gulp, your fingers clutching the wardrobe door behind you. He’s pissed. Really pissed. And the Ran you know—no, the Ran you thought you knew—rarely gets this way.

But you don’t stop. Your hands scramble for anything else, and when the wardrobe fails you, your eyes dart to the coat stand nearby. It’s clumsy, unwieldy, and your only option.

You lunge for it, grabbing it with both hands. The weight nearly pulls you off balance, your knees buckling slightly as you stagger backward. Somehow, you manage to lift it, the wooden base wobbling as you awkwardly point it in his direction like a makeshift spear.

Ran stares at you, his lips twitching as if he’s holding back a laugh.

“This is ridiculous,” he says flatly. “Put that down before you hurt yourself.”

Your grip tightens, your knuckles whitening as you shake your head vehemently. “Not until you get out of here!”

His jaw clenches, and you can see the cracks forming in his patience. He exhales sharply, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in irritation.

“You really want to do this?”

The question is rhetorical, but it freezes you all the same.

Before you can respond, he moves.

It happens in a flash, his hand disappearing behind his back with a smooth, practiced motion that speaks of experience you don’t want to think about. When it reemerges, the sight of the object in his grasp knocks the air from your lungs.

A gun.

He slams it onto the coffee table with a deafening thud, the sharp crack of metal against wood reverberating through the small apartment. The table shudders beneath the force, the sound hanging in the silence like a warning bell.

“I said,” Ran growls, his eyes boring into yours. “Put. That. Shit. Down.”

Your hands tremble, your entire body frozen as your gaze flickers between the gun and his face. His expression is deadly serious now, all traces of amusement gone.

You hesitate, your chest heaving with shallow, panicked breaths. Slowly, reluctantly, you lower the stand to the ground, the fear of what he might do overwhelming any thoughts of resistance.

“Good,” he mutters, leaning back slightly, though his hand lingers near the gun.

“Now, tell me, did you really think you could wreck my car, disappear for days, and just… carry on like nothing happened?”

Your throat tightens, and you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. The weight of his words crushes any remaining defiance within you. Your head dips, and your hands nervously twist the hem of your shirt, a futile attempt to ground yourself.

At your silence, Ran’s smirk sharpens.

“And here I thought you had more sense than this. But running? That’s not exactly your strong suit, is it?”

“I wasn’t running,” you protest weakly, though the words sound hollow even to your own ears. “I’ll pay you back, I swear. I just… I need time.”

“Time?” he scoffs. “Time’s not in your budget, sweetheart. You’re already on borrowed time, and I don’t like being kept waiting.”

At that, your frustration finally spills over, the weight of the week breaking your composure.

“Look around you, Ran!” you exclaim, gesturing to the small, dingy apartment surrounding you.

“I live in this goddamn hole that’s falling apart! Everything about this place screams poor. Do you really think I’ve got a stash of cash lying around to pay you? I don’t!”

Ran’s gaze flickers briefly around the room, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the mismatched furniture, and the secondhand coffee table with water stains on its surface. The faint hum of the space heater in the corner underscores the cold that still lingers in the air. His eyes land on the stack of unopened bills on the side table, their edges curling as if mocking your situation—a silent testament to the weight of your financial struggles.

But as his eyes return to yours, there’s no pity, no softening of the sharp lines of his face.

“I see no problem with this place,” he says casually. “I think it’s…”

He trails off, his attention snagging on something on the couch. His long fingers pluck at a scrap of fabric buried under the pile of clothes you'd thrown in a panic. He holds it up, and your stomach drops.

Your lacey purple bra.

“…really nice,” he finishes with an amused lilt.

Blood rushes to your cheeks in mortified heat. That bra. That stupid bra. The one your ex had bought for you years ago, still brand new because you'd been too embarrassed to wear it. You'd forgotten it even existed—until now, dangling between Ran's fingers as he examines it with interest.

"Give it back!" you snap, surging forward to snatch it from his hand.

Ran lets it go without resistance, but his soft chuckle lingers in the air, making your humiliation burn even hotter.

"Interesting choice," he teases.

You clutch the bra to your chest, your fingers tightening around the fabric as defensiveness flares in the wake of your embarrassment.

“I didn’t buy it myself!” you blurt out, the words spilling from your lips before you can think better of it.

His smirk falters, the teasing glint in his eyes dimming. “Someone else bought it to you?"

You glare at him, too flustered to think straight. “That’s none of your business!”

He doesn’t respond immediately. His sharp gaze lingers on you, as if he’s trying to extract the answer from you without you saying another word. For a moment, the room feels suffocatingly quiet, the air thick with something you can’t quite place.

Finally, he leans back, his fingers rising to adjust the tie around his neck, a gesture that would seem casual if not for the tension tightening his jaw. His lips curve back into a faint smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Fair enough,” he mutters.

The moment feels heavier than it should, like you’ve unknowingly touched a nerve. But before you can dwell on it, he steers the conversation back to dangerous ground.

“Let’s talk about something that is my business, then. The car. You crashed it, and I’m not waiting any longer for the compensation.”

You huff, your frustration bubbling over as you clutch the bra tighter, using it as a shield against his piercing gaze.

“I said I don’t–”

“That,” he cuts you off sharply, “is none of my business. You’re paying now. Either with cash, or…”

You stare at him in disbelief as he lets his words hang in the air, his lavender eyes darkening.

“…You’re gonna have to pay some other way.”

A cold shiver races down your spine, and you instinctively take a step back, your heels brushing against the wall.

“W-what do you mean?” you stammer.

Ran tilts his head slightly, studying you with unnerving calmness, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. What do you think you’re good for?”

“I-I…” The words die in your throat, choking on the implications.

Your mind spins, conjuring images too dark to linger on. What did he mean? Was he toying with you, or was this some cruel prelude to something worse?

Just as the tension becomes unbearable, Ran leans back against the couch with a low chuckle, the sound sending a ripple of unease through you.

“Relax. You’ve got a decent head on your shoulders—means I can trust you to handle a few things for me.”

“Things? What kind of things?”

Ran merely smirks, dismissing your question with a lazy wave of his hand, as if the specifics are beneath explanation. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over the details.”

Before you can press further, he rises to his full height in one fluid motion. The shift is so sudden, so commanding, that you flinch, instinctively shrinking back as your pulse pounds in your ears.

“Now, are you coming or not?” He extends his hand toward you, palm up, expectant and steady.

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the gun on the coffee table, its cold, metallic presence a chilling reminder of the stakes. You don’t really have a choice, do you?

You’d sealed your fate the moment you made that series of reckless choices—the night you slept with him, the car you stole, the crash that started this nightmare.

With a sigh of defeat, you reach out and place your hand in his. “…Fine.”

But the moment your fingers brush his, Ran moves. His hand clamps around yours with a grip far stronger than you expected, and before you can even process what’s happening, he pulls you forward with a force that sends you stumbling into his chest.

The impact knocks the breath out of you, the solid warmth of him disorienting and unwelcome. Before you can push away, his arm loops around your waist, locking you in place like a steel band.

“W-what are you doing?” you exclaim, struggling against him.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, the faint smirk playing on his lips contrasting with the tightening grip he has on your waist. “This will only take a second.”

It happens before you can react. A sharp, stinging sensation pierces the side of your neck. Your body jerks instinctively, your eyes widening in alarm.

“What was that?!”

You try to shove him away, but he doesn’t budge. His hold on you remains firm, unyielding. The syringe glints in the dim light as he presses it deeper, injecting its contents into your veins.

“No–no!” you gasp as panic sets in.

“Shhh,” he whispers gently, the warmth of his breath brushing against your ear. “You’ll be fine. I got you.”

Your movements grow frantic, but it’s no use. Whatever he injected you with is already working. Your body feels heavy, like lead, your limbs sluggish and unresponsive.

Your knees buckle, but Ran catches you effortlessly, his arm tightening around your waist to keep you upright. Your vision begins to blur, the edges darkening with each passing second.

“Ran–Please…” you murmur weakly, your voice barely audible as strength drains from you.

The betrayal stings almost as much as the needle, but it’s his expression that haunts you the most.

He isn’t angry or mocking. His gaze is soft, almost tender, his lips set in a faint line of regret.

“I’m sorry… but this is the only way, sweetheart.”

Your mind fights to hold on, to make sense of his cryptic words, but it’s a losing battle. Your vision darkens further, the room spinning into an inky abyss.

The last thing you feel is his strong arms around you, cradling you like you’re something precious, as he whispers words you can’t fully comprehend. But there’s a gentleness there, a promise that somehow feels more terrifying than comforting.

And then, there’s nothing but darkness.

The first time you met Ran Haitani was on Valentine’s Day, and it wasn’t the magical day you had envisioned.

Clutching a Tupperware filled with a homemade bento, you hurried through the school hallway. Your heart was pounding—not just from running but from the sheer anticipation of seeing Rindou. You’d harbored a quiet crush on him since the first day of middle school, and today, you were determined to show him. The bento wasn’t just food; it was a confession wrapped in rice and heart-shaped sausages.

Rumor had it Rindou was on campus today, which was rare given how often he skipped school. You couldn’t waste this opportunity.

But as you turned the corner into the quieter part of the school, your forward momentum abruptly stopped. Your foot caught on something solid, sending you pitching forward. The world tilted, and then pain shot through your palms as you hit the floor. The bento container skidded ahead, the lid popping open slightly.

You groaned, pushing yourself up, only to hear a burst of laughter. Looking back, you saw a long leg still stretched across the hallway – the culprit behind your fall.

“Seriously?” you muttered, brushing dust off your uniform.

The owner of the leg leaned back against the wall, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. He looked like Rindou—same sharp jawline, same piercing lavender eyes—but his hair was longer, braided into twin pigtails that somehow made him look both absurd and terrifying.

Your heart jumped. You realized this must be him, the elusive Ran Haitani, Rindou’s older brother. He was surrounded by a group of boys who were clearly delinquents, all snickering as they watched you struggle to get up.

You ignored them and bent down to grab your bento, but before you could reach it, Ran snatched it up effortlessly.

"Hey!" you exclaimed. "Give it back!"

Ran popped the lid open, ignoring your protests. His lavender eyes swept over the neatly packed bento, lingering on the heart-shaped sausages. His smirk widened when he noticed the note taped to the inside of the lid.

“‘For Rindou,’” he read aloud, his voice laced with mockery. “Oh, this is precious.”

The boys surrounding him burst into laughter, their voices echoing in the empty hallway.

Ran raised an eyebrow at you, holding the bento aloft like it was a joke meant just for him.

“You made all this for my brother? You?” His tone dripped with condescension. “That’s bold. Kind of pathetic, but bold.”

Your cheeks burned with humiliation, but you refused to let him see you falter. Clenching your fists at your sides, you bit back the urge to scream at him. He was Rindou’s brother. Making a scene now wouldn’t help your chances.

Ran handed the bento off to one of his friends, who dug in without hesitation.

“Not bad,” the boy said through a mouthful of rice.

Ran chuckled, glancing back at you. “Here’s some advice, sweetheart. If you’re trying to impress someone, maybe start by fixing yourself first.”

The laughter around you grew louder, each jeer another dagger in your pride.

You watched helplessly as Ran turned to leave, his group following like a pack of hyenas. Left behind, you stared at the empty Tupperware they’d discarded. Your hands trembled – not just from anger, but from the sting of his words.

The logical thing would’ve been to walk away, to let it go. But a surge of defiance rose within you. You couldn’t let him have the last word.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you darted forward and grabbed Ran’s arm, pulling him to a halt.

The laughter died instantly. His friends exchanged puzzled glances, their amusement replaced by curiosity. Ran turned slowly, his lavender eyes narrowing as he looked down at your hand gripping his sleeve.

“What, got something to say?” he asked impatiently.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. Every instinct told you to back down, but you tightened your grip instead.

“Help me.”

His smirk faltered. “Help you?”

You nodded, your resolve hardening. “Help me fix myself so Rindou will like me.”

The hallway fell silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Even his friends looked taken aback, their eyes darting between you and Ran as if waiting for his reaction.

Ran stared at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might shove you away, laugh in your face, or call you pathetic again. But then, slowly, his smirk returned. It was different this time—less cruel, more calculating.

“Oh, shit. You’re serious,” he murmured. “You’re really in love with Rin, huh?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the word “love” caught in your throat. Was it love? You weren’t sure, but the way your chest tightened at the mention of Rindou’s nickname was answer enough. So, instead, you just nodded.

Ran’s eyes flickered with a hint of amusement and curiosity, maybe even a trace of pity. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.

And then, to your surprise, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. The sudden contact made you stiffen, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Alright, then. This could be interesting.”

And that’s how it started.

From that day on, Ran Haitani, the delinquent with a penchant for chaos, became an unavoidable presence in your life.

His methods of "fixing" you were unconventional, to say the least. He'd drag you to thrift shops, holding up outfits with an exaggerated flourish while making dramatic faces at your attempts to protest. He called you boring, teased you relentlessly, and seemed to take great joy in making you uncomfortable. Yet somehow, his critiques worked. Your style transformed into an edgier aesthetic—a reflection of the world he inhabited.

But it wasn't just your appearance he worked on. Ran was relentless in pushing you out of your comfort zone, forcing you to talk back, to stand taller, to stop apologizing for everything.

"Rindou likes girls with a backbone," he'd said one afternoon, tossing you a half-eaten bag of chips as you sat together on the school rooftop. "You're a doormat. Fix that."

It surprised you how much time he spent with you. At first, it felt like a game to him, another way to amuse himself, but slowly, it began to feel... different. Especially when he started showing up to class.

It was nearly the end of the school year when you realized Ran had been your classmate all along. His sudden appearance in the classroom caused a stir. Girls whispered about him, giggling behind their hands, and you couldn't help but notice how easily he soaked up the attention.

He flirted shamelessly, his charm effortless, his smirk disarming. You rolled your eyes every time he turned it on you, dismissing it as another layer of teasing. He was like that with everyone, after all—friendly, flirty, but always just out of reach.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

Then came the day you found him in the empty classroom.

You'd been searching for him all afternoon. He was supposed to help you pick out a birthday present for Rindou, but your calls had gone unanswered. Frustration bubbled in your chest as you swung open the door, only to freeze at the sight before you.

Ran stood leaning against a desk, his school shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely off his shoulders, revealing the lean muscles of his chest. Tattoos curled around his skin, a striking contrast to the polished chaos of his appearance.

A girl sat perched on the desk in front of him, her blouse undone just enough to reveal the lace of her bra. His hand rested on her waist, fingers splayed casually, while their mouths moved together in a slow, intimate kiss.

The air felt too thick, your chest tightening as the scene seared itself into your mind. You didn't know whether to step back and pretend you hadn't seen anything or make your presence known. But before you could decide, the girl noticed you.

She gasped, her face paling as she scrambled to button her blouse. Without sparing you a second glance, she fled the room, her hurried steps echoing down the hallway.

Ran turned his head lazily toward you, completely unfazed by the interruption. His lips quirked into a smirk.

“What’s up? You like what you see or something?”

You frowned at him, willing the heat creeping up your neck to subside.

“Did you forget already?” you asked flatly, your voice steadier than you felt. “We were supposed to go present shopping for Rin after school.”

The smirk faltered, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh. Right." He reached for the buttons of his shirt, fastening them one by one without urgency. "I forgot."

“I called you, like, a million times.”

“My phone’s dead.”

“You know, it’s important to keep your phone charged in case of–”

“Okay, okay. Chill, will you?” he interrupted, rolling his eyes. “What are you, my mom?”

You glared at him, refusing to let him deflect. “You’re the one who promised to help me.”

Ran sighed again, his exasperation palpable as he walked toward you. He loomed close, close enough for you to catch the faint scent of cigarette smoke clinging to him.

"Fine," he said flatly, as if he couldn’t care less. "Let's go."

Now that he was near, you noticed something that made your brow furrow—a faint smudge of lipstick smeared across the corner of his mouth, a remnant of his earlier make-out session. Without thinking, you reached up and swiped at it with your thumb.

“You’ve got lipstick all over you,” you muttered, your voice distracted as you focused on cleaning the smudge. “Gosh, clean up your own mess, will you?”

Ran went completely still. His usual smirk faltered as his eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. For once, he seemed caught off guard. But you didn’t notice. Too focused on scrubbing at the faint pink streak, you didn’t register the shift in his expression—the way his gaze softened, almost imperceptibly.

“There,” you said absentmindedly, satisfied when the lipstick was gone. You pulled your hand away and turned to walk ahead, not thinking twice. “Come on. We’ve got stuff to–”

“Wait.”

You stopped and glanced back at him. He was still standing in the same spot, staring at you like you’d done something strange.

“What?” you asked, frowning.

Ran hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he was warring with himself. Finally, he let out a breath and looked away. “Forget it. I can’t make it today.”

“What?” you repeated, incredulous. “But you promised–”

“Just bake a cake for him or something,” he interrupted, his words sharper this time, as if trying to distance himself. “That’s what you’re good at, right?”

You scowled, feeling the sting of his dismissiveness. “A cake? Rin likes cake?”

Ran didn’t answer right away. He stared at you, his gaze unnervingly serious, the usual teasing edge absent from his expression.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant.

“He’ll like it.”

You trusted him.

And he lied.

Days later, you found yourself sitting alone in the empty hallway, your knees pulled tightly to your chest. Your face was buried against them, hot tears streaking down your cheeks as you tried to hold in the sobs threatening to escape

The blue box sat discarded beside you, the ribbon still perfectly tied—a cruel reminder of your failure. Rindou’s rejection echoed in your mind, his blunt words cutting deeper than you’d ever thought possible.

“I don’t like fatty foods,” he’d said, barely sparing the cake a glance before walking away. He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but it had felt like a slap anyway.

You’d poured everything into that cake—your time, your effort, your feelings—all because Ran had said, He’ll like it. But he hadn’t. Ran had lied.

Was it one of his pranks? Some sick joke to embarrass you? Or was this his way of telling you that you were never good enough for Rindou?

A quiet sob broke from your throat, and you pressed your face harder into your knees, willing the ache in your chest to go away. You hated Ran. God, you hated him.

“Hey,” a voice broke through your thoughts, familiar and gratingly casual. “You’re seriously crying?”

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Go away, Ran,” you muttered, your voice muffled against your arms. “Just leave me alone.”

But, of course, he didn’t.

Instead, you heard the faint creak of his shoes against the polished floor as he crouched in front of you. His shadow loomed over you, but his hand was gentle as it rested lightly on your arm.

“What happened?” he asked hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure if he should be asking.

You didn’t answer. What was the point? He already knew.

Ran sighed. “Did my brother… say something stupid?”

The question made you snap. Your head shot up, your tear-streaked face meeting his calm one. “You lied to me!”

Ran blinked, taken aback. It wasn’t often that you raised your voice at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You knew he wouldn’t like it. You knew he didn’t like cake, and you still told me to bake it. Was this some kind of joke to you? To humiliate me?”

Ran didn’t smirk or laugh like you expected. Instead, he stayed perfectly still, his lavender eyes narrowing slightly as he watched you.

“I didn’t think he’d actually be dumb enough to reject it,” he muttered after a moment, almost to himself.

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Your lip quivered, and fresh tears welled up in your eyes.

“I hate you,” you whispered. “I hate you so much.”

Ran’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked�� uncomfortable. Vulnerable, even. It was a rare expression for him, one that quickly disappeared as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly unsure of what to do with your tears.

“Hey, don’t cry,” he said awkwardly. “Rin’s just… an idiot. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

You buried your face in your knees again, unwilling to let him see the depth of your hurt.

“Go away, Ran. I mean it.”

There was a long silence. Then you felt it—a hesitant, almost clumsy pat on your head.

“Uh… there, there?” Ran said, sounding completely out of his depth.

The sheer awkwardness of it broke something inside you, and a muffled sob escaped before you could stop it.

“Alright, alright! Stop crying already!” His voice grew louder, almost frantic. “Look, I’ll prove it to you. Hand me the cake.”

You didn’t move, but Ran wasn’t waiting for your permission. He reached for the blue box beside you, pulling out the perfectly decorated cake with his bare hands.

“What are you—Ran, stop!” you said, lifting your head just in time to see him shove a massive piece into his mouth.

“See?” he said around a mouthful of frosting. “This–” He swallowed, grimacing slightly before continuing, “This is great. Like, the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

You stared at him, stunned.

He kept going, stuffing piece after piece into his mouth until the cake was nearly gone. By the time he finished, his face was pale, and he looked like he was on the verge of throwing up.

“Ran, you idiot!” you said, a laugh escaping despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.

He glanced at you, his expression dazed. Then he smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth still smeared with frosting.

“There. You’re laughing again.”

Embarrassed, you looked away, heat rushing to your face.

“You eat like a baby. They’re all over your face,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, though your voice lacked any real bite.

Ran flushed slightly, but instead of brushing it off, he grabbed your hand and tugged it closer to his face.

“Where?” he asked, his tone deceptively innocent, though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

You froze, startled by his unexpected reaction. Was he seriously asking you to clean it off for him?

Hesitant but unsure how to refuse, you sighed and leaned in, wiping the frosting from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. You kept your eyes focused on the task, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on you, unblinking, as if he were studying you too closely. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, and your hands trembled slightly.

“There,” you said quickly, pulling your hand away, hoping to break the strange tension hanging between you.

But Ran’s reflexes were faster. He caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm, and before you could protest, he leaned in and licked the frosting from your finger, his movements deliberate and slow.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening in disbelief, as you tried to make sense of the moment. Was this just another one of his playful tricks to distract you from your earlier heartbreak?

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said quietly. “It’s not like Rin outright rejected me. I’ll just try harder next time.”

Ran was silent for a beat, his expression unreadable as he released your hand. Then, his smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah. You’d better.”

His words left you confused, but his smirk—so typical of him—still managed to make you feel lighter, like he’d somehow lifted the weight of the day off your shoulders.

You offered him a small smile, feeling a bit better. You didn’t know what it was, but it stayed with you long after he stood, long after he offered you his help with a rare sincerity.

It stays with you even now, years later, as you think about the man Ran has become. The memory of that boy—reckless, unpredictable, and unexpectedly kind—is one you could never forget, no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise.

< part I ends >

taglist. @unfortunately-a-dazai-kinnie @tribbisweetdear @soilaluna @tenjikusstuff4

52 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 4 hours ago

Text

your teenage kid, decided to do “my mom now vs then” trend.

timeskip!karasuno x f!reader

ps. don’t have a photo with all of ‘em but i’ll look for one soon!

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡‎

♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

sawamura daichi

slideshow: you in your school uniform → you now in mom-mode apron.

comments:

“idk what position ur dad has in the popo but i’d let her sit on my face no questions.”

“she looks like she could ruin my taxes AND my life and i’d thank her.”

daichi almost drops the phone. his ears go red as he mutters, “taxes?? sit on—” then he turns to you, hand on your waist, voice low. “you’re my wife. not their little… daydream. mine.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

sugawara kōshi

slideshow: you in a sundress back then → you now glowing at PTA.

comments:

“she’s the type to tell me to grow up and i’d do it instantly.”

“ok dad’s cute but mom?? MOM IS FOR EVERYONE.”

suga is typing like his life depends on it. “no. not for everyone. mine.” he kisses your cheek in front of the phone, grinning sharp. “proof.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

azumane asahi

slideshow: you dolled up at a festival → you now cozy and soft.

comments:

“she looks like she gives aftercare after wrecking you.”

“this mom is ethereal, like an angel that stepped on my throat.”

asahi covers his face with both hands. “step— throat— wrecking—” he crawls into your arms for comfort, whispering, “you’d never… you’re too good. my good wife.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

nishinoya yū

slideshow: you in a yukata → you now in sweats and looking divine.

comments:

“nah i’d bark AND roll over for her rn.”

“she’s got the kind of rizz that makes me wanna fight my own mom.”

noya shrieks. “FIGHT YOUR MOM? BARK??” then clutches your leg like you’ll slip away. “don’t listen to them, babe. you’re MY mommy. only mine.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

tanaka ryūnosuke

slideshow: you cheering at practice → you now laughing in the kitchen.

comments:

“ur dad’s hairline but ur mom’s BODY?? god is fair.”

“she looks like she’s gonna ruin lives one midlife crisis at a time.”

tanaka screams, “MY HAIRLINE?? MY WIFE??” then launches himself at you, wrapping his arms around you like a seatbelt. “you’re not ruining lives, babe, only mine, forever.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

ennoshita chikara

slideshow: you in a cardigan → you now sipping coffee like a CEO.

comments:

“she looks like she’d ghost me then text me at 2am and i’d thank her.”

“is she happily married or just married 👀”

ennoshita’s eyes darken. he kisses your hand sweetly, then murmurs, “i’m gonna crack their spines in a bad way. you’re not just married. you’re mine. happily.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

kinoshita hisashi

slideshow: you in a sundress → you now in jeans still glowing.

comments:

“she’s got the aura of a woman who could ruin me financially and emotionally.”

“nah dad’s a placeholder, mom’s the main event.”

kinoshita forces a smile, but his arm doesn’t leave your waist all night. “placeholder? cute. except you chose me. permanently.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

narita kazuhito

slideshow: you back then with books → you now timeless.

comments:

“she’s canon, dad’s filler arc.”

“i’d let her leave me on read for the rest of my life.”

narita chuckles, kissing your temple. “canon and mine. they can rot in the drafts.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

kageyama tobio

slideshow: you cheering at his game → you now at your kid’s.

comments:

“nah she’s timeless rizz, dad’s holding her hostage.”

“she could ruin my gpa and i’d still write her love letters.”

kageyama freezes. “hostage?? you’re not leaving.” he clutches you, trembling. “you’re not. right? right??” when you promise him, he relaxes, but doesn’t let go.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

hinata shōyō

slideshow: you smiling in a hoodie → you now still radiant.

comments:

“she’s the SUN and i’d burn for her.”

“main quest unlocked: MILF supremacy.”

hinata throws himself into your lap. “SUPREMACY?? she’s already supreme—she’s MY supreme!” he peppers your face with frantic kisses until you’re laughing too hard to breathe.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

tsukishima kei

slideshow: you with glasses → you now sharper, hotter.

comments:

“nah she could step on me in heels and i’d bark.”

“she’s endgame wife material, dad fumbled hard.”

tsukki smirks coldly. “fumbled? hilarious. she’s STILL married to ME.” then pulls you onto his lap with zero warning, smirking at the screen. “cry harder.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

yamaguchi tadashi

slideshow: you laughing then → you now glowing the same.

comments:

“she looks like heartbreak wrapped in a hug.”

“is she happily married or waiting for me 👀”

yamaguchi flushes scarlet. “waiting? no… no. you’re happy. with me, right?” when you nod, he melts into your arms, whispering, “good. you’re mine forever. they can keep dreaming.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: random ass idea i got while i was suffering in physics.

iloveu

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miffysoo · 21 hours ago

Text

forever

— you ask rintarō if he’s free, now he lives with you; this guy doesn’t even want the guest room.

suna rintarō x f!reader

c: fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff!!

i’m supposed to be asleep since it's 4am and i’ll wake up at 6 but i randomly got this idea ദ്ദി๑>؂•̀๑)

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡‎

♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

it all starts with six words.

“hey, are you free after practice?”

you ask it casually, leaning against the school gates. you mean, do you wanna get snacks, maybe hang out? something normal.

but suna rintarō isn’t normal.

“yeah,” he says, bored drawl, unreadable face.

and three hours later, there’s a knock at your door. you open it to find suna with a suitcase AND a duffel bag. not an overnight backpack. a full-blown suitcase, neatly packed, wheels and all.

“yeah,” he says, brushing past you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “i’m free. forever. i live here now.”

before you can kick him back onto the porch, your mom gasps from the kitchen doorway.

“rintarō!” she exclaims, delighted. “come in, come in—dinner’s almost ready!”

your dad appears behind her, spots the suitcase, and claps suna on the back like they’ve just signed a contract.

“good,” your dad says gravely. “stay as long as you want. stay forever.”

and just like that, your own parents sold you out.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

you try to fight it.

“you don’t live here,” you hiss on night two, standing in your bedroom doorway.

suna is sprawled across your bed, phone in hand, blanket over his lap. his suitcase is unpacked. his toothbrush is next to yours. he’s wearing your hoodie.

he looks at you, smirks, and pats the mattress beside him. “yeah, i do.”

“no, you don’t.”

“yeah, i do,” he repeats, tugging your pillow closer to his chest. “get in. it’s late.”

you gape. “i didn’t invite you to—”

he leans over, presses a kiss to your cheek, and murmurs, “shh. you did. when you asked if i was free.”

and somehow, impossibly, you end up under the blanket with him, his arm slung over your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

it doesn’t stop there.

suna is clingy. disgustingly clingy.

he follows you from room to room, sliding his hand into yours like it’s second nature. he curls around you on the couch, head on your shoulder, kissing your jaw every time you try to push him off. he traps you in the kitchen, arms braced around you, chin dropping to your shoulder while you cook.

“move, rin,” you mutter, trying to stir the pot.

“no,” he says simply, lips brushing your neck. “i’m comfy.”

your mom walks in, sees the position, and beams. “adorable!”

traitor.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

it’s bad enough at home. but then suna opens his big mouth at practice.

atsumu groans, flopping onto the court. “i’m starving. i could eat a whole cow.”

“same,” suna mutters, wiping sweat from his face. “wonder what she’s cooking tonight.”

there’s a pause.

“...who’s she?” osamu asks slowly.

suna shrugs. “my wife.”

the gym erupts.

“WIFE?!” atsumu shrieks.

suna groaned , “fine, girlfriend.”

“SINCE WHEN?!”

“you live with her?” aran demands.

“yeah,” suna says, like it’s obvious. “her parents said i could stay forever.”

atsumu throws his towel at him. “YOU’RE INSANE.”

suna smirks. “maybe.” of course he is, he planned all of it. he just waited for that question.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

they don’t believe him. until they show up at your house. with an invite? nah.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

it’s saturday afternoon when you open the door to find the entire inarizaki team crammed onto your porch.

atsumu grins way too wide. “hey! we were just, uh… in the neighborhood!”

“we’re thirty minutes away,” aran mutters.

“shut up,” atsumu hisses.

before you can slam the door, suna appears behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.

“oh,” he drawls, voice low, smug. “you guys found our house.”

OUR HOUSE. “you shameless little—”

your teammates collectively short-circuit.

“our… OUR HOUSE?!” ginjima squawks.

your mom bustles in, eyes lighting up. “oh, rintarō’s friends! come in, come in—there’s plenty of food!”

you’re dying inside.

the team is wheezing.

suna’s just smirking against your hair, kissing your temple for emphasis.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

dinner is a disaster.

atsumu sits there gaping as your mom heaps food onto suna’s plate like he’s royalty. osamu keeps kicking his brother under the table, whispering, “bro, he wasn’t kidding.” aran watches like he’s witnessing a crime. kita, stoic as always, just says, “makes sense,” which somehow makes it worse.

and suna?

he spends the whole meal touching you. no, not like that.

hand on your thigh under the table. brushing hair behind your ear. pressing a kiss to your temple when you say something dumb. stealing bites off your plate just to lean in close and murmur, “thanks, babe.”

“BAAAABE?!” atsumu nearly chokes on his rice.

“what the hell,” ginjima mutters, eyes wide.

osamu leans over to aran. “the food is good, ya think i could come over more to ask his girlfriend.” which earns a kick under the table and s glare from suna.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

after dinner, they pile into the living room, and it gets worse.

suna pulls you onto his lap, arms caging you in, chin on your shoulder while he scrolls his phone. you try to get up once—he pulls you back down, kisses your neck, and mutters, “no.”

the entire team watches in stunned silence.

atsumu finally blurts, “HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?!”

“forever,” suna says lazily, kissing your cheek. “told you.”

and the way your parents nod approvingly in the background? yeah. you’ll never recover.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

when the team finally leaves, half-traumatized, half-envious, suna drags you upstairs, collapses onto your bed, and pulls you down with him.

“see?” he murmurs, kissing your jaw, your lips, your throat. “fits. perfectly.”

and maybe you don’t hate the idea of him staying forever.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: i can only write a lot on midnight since i’m busy ;(

iloveu

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miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

smitten

— kiyoomi is one intrusive thought away from building a shrine out of your hair ties.

sakusa kiyoomi x telepath!f!reader

c: fluff fluff fluff!! suggestive content (making out)

even i’m flustered while i write these. i’m gonna jump kiyoomi and no one’s gonna hold me back.

i decided to add spice into this so that this mini series of mine doesn’t get too bland nor repetitive, i hate repetitions ദ്ദി๑>؂•̀๑)

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the first time it happens, you think you’re losing it.

you’re crouched on the gym floor, folding towels like the dutiful manager you are, while the boys finish drills. sakusa’s serving, as usual, his mask tugged neatly over his face like he’s allergic to oxygen. nothing out of the ordinary—except that when he tosses the ball and his eyes flick to the sideline, a voice cuts into your brain so sharp you almost drop the towel.

‘she looks so pretty when she’s folding towels. is it insane that i want to frame that image in my head forever? god. i hate everyone else for also seeing her. disgusting.’

you freeze. because one: no one said that out loud. two: the only person looking at you right now is sakusa kiyoomi, who, last you checked, barely tolerates your existence.

but then he serves, the ball spinning so cleanly it makes komori clap like an overexcited seal, and you’re left blinking at him, towel half-folded, heart racing.

it has to be coincidence. no way. sakusa doesn’t even like you. if anything, he’s made it clear he finds you bothersome—always telling you to stand further away, stop touching his water bottles, don’t breathe too close to him (that one might have been in your head, but still).

except.

except the next thought comes in clear as day.

‘stop staring at me, i’m going to mess up. oh god, no, wait, keep staring at me. don’t look away. if she looks away i’ll actually serve this ball into the wall on purpose just so practice gets delayed and she talks to me.’

you choke. actually choke on air. komori runs over, eyes wide, “hey, are you okay? need water?” he’s thinking about chicken nuggets right now.

“fine,” you wheeze, waving him off. you’re not fine. you’re hearing sakusa kiyoomi’s thoughts, and sakusa kiyoomi’s thoughts are… gross. yearning. sticky-sweet and a little terrifying, like honey left out in the sun too long.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

for the next week, you test it.

every time he’s near, you listen.

in the locker room corridor when you pass him a towel:

‘her hand brushed mine. i can’t wash this hand. no. wait. that’s unhygienic. i’ll wash it but i’ll remember forever. yeah. that’s good. disgusting. i’m disgusting. but god i want it again.’

during water breaks when komori’s chatting with you and sakusa’s lurking a few feet away pretending not to watch:

‘why is he making her laugh like that? she doesn’t laugh like that with me. she should only laugh like that with me. i’ll kill him. no i won’t. i’ll trip him in practice. no one will notice.’

and once, memorably, when you bent down to tie your shoelaces and caught him staring:

‘that’s a vulnerable position. she trusts us enough to kneel on the floor like that. i could guard her from every angle. i should stand in front of her so no one else looks. if anyone looks i’ll—’

you stand up so fast you almost get whiplash.

the worst part? you like him. you’ve liked him since the first time he walked into the gym, tall and brooding and stupidly handsome, and the two pretty moles on his forehead. you think they’re the prettiest constellation you’ve ever seen. you thought he hated you, though, so you buried the crush under your duties as manager.

but now. now you know he’s rotting on the inside for you.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

komori notices first. ‘if i buy some nuggets with my allowance, how many will i get?’

“you’ve been spacing out,” he says after practice one day, when you’re packing up the first aid kit.

you shrug, trying to keep your face neutral, but across the gym sakusa is wiping his hands with clinical precision, and in your head he’s thinking:

‘she looks tired. she should sit down. i’ll tell her. no i can’t tell her, she’ll think i’m weird. maybe if i trip iizuna he’ll ask her to sit down and then i can agree with him. yes. that’s normal.’

you bite your lip to stop from laughing, which komori takes as confirmation you’re definitely hiding something.

“what?” you say.

“nothing,” komori hums, but he eyes sakusa, then you, then sakusa again like he’s putting puzzle pieces together.

you pray he doesn’t.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the thing about sakusa kiyoomi is that he’s good at hiding things. his face never changes, his tone is always flat, his movements are calculated down to the inch. if you didn’t have your new telepathic glitch, you’d never know he’s mentally monologuing about your shoelaces, your handwriting, the way you tuck stray hairs behind your ear.

‘i should start wearing my hair differently. she always brushes hers back, maybe if i do it too she’ll notice. no, too obvious. god, i want her to notice me. please notice me.’

and you do notice. oh, do you notice.

every stalkerish little habit.

like how your water bottle is always mysteriously colder than everyone else’s—because he secretly swaps it with a fresh one before practice, cursing internally about how no one else deserves to touch the condensation beads on plastic meant for you.

like how your umbrella went missing one rainy afternoon, and you were sure you’d left it in the gym, until sakusa appeared outside the gates holding it—mask on, expression flat, but inside his head screaming:

‘act normal. just hand it to her. don’t tell her you’ve been keeping it at home for three days so no one else could borrow it. normal. normal. normal.’

you’d thanked him, smiling, and he’d stiffly nodded. but in his brain:

‘her smile is brighter than the sun. i’m blind. i can’t see. i don’t need to see. she’s all i’ll ever need to see. kill the sun. the sun doesn’t deserve to exist if she exists.’

you nearly tripped in a puddle trying not to laugh.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

by the end of the month, you’ve catalogued enough of his inner ramblings to write a novel titled ways sakusa kiyoomi wants to die via your smile or in between your thighs but we’re not gonna be talking about that.

and still, outwardly, he treats you the same—curt nods, sanitized distance, blunt remarks about your stacking of cones or folding of towels. if anything, he seems more irritable, but you know the truth now. he’s not irritated. he’s imploding.

‘she’s standing too close. my heart rate’s 120. is that normal? no. i’m going to collapse. i should push her away. no. pull her closer. SNIFF HER. no. god. i hate myself.’

you love it. you love him. every deranged thought makes your stomach flip like a volleyball over the net.

the problem? you can’t tell him. not yet.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

one night, after a particularly long practice, you stay behind to lock up. sakusa stays too, wiping down balls with almost surgical thoroughness.

you pretend not to notice, but your head is buzzing with his thoughts.

‘if she leaves first i’ll walk her home. no. too obvious. what if someone else sees? i could follow at a distance. yes. that’s safer. she won’t even know i’m there. god. i sound like a creep. i am a creep. but she’ll be safe. safe because of me.’

you finally turn, key in hand, and catch him staring. mask on, eyes dark, his hands stilling on the volleyball.

“you done?” you ask lightly.

he blinks. nods. shrugs. his usual minimalistic responses.

but in his head:

‘she spoke to me first. jackpot. should i frame this moment? yes. memorize her tone. record it in my brain. this is love. i’m in love. god help me.’

you grin, unlocking the door. “walk me home?”

he stiffens, like you’ve short-circuited his brain.

inside, though—

‘she asked me. she asked me. she asked me. play it cool. play it cool. say yes. oh my god say yes before she changes her mind. say yes, kiyoomi. now.’

“…fine,” he mutters, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

but you hear the truth.

and for once, you let yourself bask in it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

as a manager, you’re used to wrangling the itachiyama boys, but you didn’t account for sakusa kiyoomi sitting next to you on a two-hour bus ride. his posture is perfect, his mask covers most of his face, and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else—except you can hear his thoughts, and they’re a disaster.

‘her thigh is touching mine. it’s touching mine. don’t move. if i move i’ll lose it. oh god. she smells like candy. peaches. i want to bite her. not literally. no literally. i want to taste her. i should die. i should throw myself out the bus window.’

you almost choke trying not to laugh, pretending to look out the window, but the jolt of the bus sends you crashing into his shoulder.

his brain combusts.

‘holy shit. she’s on me. she’s ON ME. don’t breathe too loud. don’t scare her away. oh my god her cheek is so soft against me. i could hold her. no, no, stay still. wait. please don’t move. please don’t ever move.’

you straighten only when the bus steadies. sakusa doesn’t move at all, like one wrong twitch will undo the memory.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the day passes in blurs—lunch, hiking, komori’s endless chatter and his thoughts about chicken nuggets again—but you can feel sakusa’s eyes on you constantly. his thoughts stick like glue.

‘she’s walking too far ahead. what if she trips. what if she gets hurt. i’ll carry her if she does. i’ll carry her down the whole mountain. bridal style. yes. everyone will see she’s mine. no. that’s insane. no it’s perfect. god, please trip. wait no. don’t trip. i’ll die if she’s hurt.’

you nearly trip on purpose just to watch him spiral, but you hold back.

night falls, the cabins go quiet, and you slip outside for fresh air. you don’t expect sakusa to already be there, leaning against the railing, mask under his chin, hood up.

the sight nearly knocks the wind out of you—his face bare in the moonlight, the two moles on his forehead gleaming faintly. unfair. completely unfair.

he startles when he sees you. “couldn’t sleep?”

you shake your head. “you?”

he shrugs, stiff as ever. but his thoughts betray him, screaming loud in your skull.

‘she looks beautiful in the dark. her hair, her eyes, everything. she’s here. with me. alone. i could kiss her. i could ruin her. no. don’t. she’d hate it. she’d hate me. god, i want her so bad. please want me back.’

your chest squeezes. you’ve spent weeks listening to this nonsense, his yearning rotting holes in your brain, and you can’t take it anymore.

“kiyoomi,” you whisper.

his lips are already on yours, hot and needy, but once you gasp his name—

“kiyoomi—”

he unravels like thread.

a low, rough sound rips out of his chest as if you’ve just set fire to every ounce of restraint he’s ever had. his hands, which were clutching your waist, slide lower, fingers digging into the dip of your hips, tugging you flush against him until there’s not an inch of space left.

he’s kissing you like he’s starved, like every second apart from your mouth is unbearable. his tongue tangles with yours, deep and filthy, swallowing every shaky breath you give him.

‘she said my name. my first name. god, i’m gone. i’m hers. i’ll never recover. never. more. closer. please closer. i’ll fuse myself into her if that’s what it takes.’

you whimper and his body jolts like he’s been electrocuted. immediately his mouth abandons yours, dragging wet, desperate kisses across your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

“hey uh—kiyoomi—”

he groans into your skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear before he sucks there, sloppy and unrestrained. his hands roam—up your spine, splaying across your lower back, then sliding forward to grip your waist again, thumbs pressing circles into your skin like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

‘she’s letting me touch her. she’s letting me taste her. mine mine mine mine. no one else gets this. no one else can have this. i’ll kill anyone who tries. god, her skin is soft. i want to bite. i want to leave marks. claim her. please let me claim her.’

he kisses back up your throat, leaving a trail of heat, before smashing his mouth to yours again, even rougher this time. it’s clumsy, hungry, his tongue pushing deep into your mouth until you moan against him—and he swallows that sound whole, like it’s the only sustenance he’s ever known.

his fingers creep higher, curling just under the hem of your shirt at your waist, not daring to go further but desperate for bare skin. you can feel his hands tremble against you.

he pulls back only to pant against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

“say it again,” he begs, voice wrecked. “say my name again.”

“kiyoomi,” you whisper, shaky and soft.

he growls—actually growls—before kissing you again, deeper, harder, like he’s trying to crawl inside your lungs and live there. rawr

one hand fists in your hair, tilting your head so he can devour your mouth from a better angle, his tongue sliding against yours in dizzying, relentless strokes. the other hand grips your hip so firmly you know it’ll bruise.

‘she’s mine. she’s mine forever. i’ll never let her go, i can buy a house with a basement if she tries to escape. god, i can’t stop. don’t make me stop. i’ll die if i stop.’

you break away for air, lips wet and swollen, and he immediately chases you, pressing messy kisses to the corner of your mouth, your chin, down your throat again, leaving you dizzy.

“kiyoomi—please—” you gasp.

he hisses, lips returning to yours, kissing you like he’s punishing you for teasing him with his own name.

by the time he finally forces himself to pull back, you’re both gasping, his hoodie clenched in your fists, his curls damp against his forehead. his eyes are wild, blown black, his mask long-forgotten.

he rests his forehead against yours, chest heaving.

“you don’t get it,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “you don’t get how much i need you.”

you smile, dazed, lips tingling. “i think i do.”

and then you kiss him again, because there’s no universe where you’ll ever get enough of this.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: i had WAY TOO MANY drafts for this, i’m starting to love this man way too much. suna fic coming soon because i just had an idea rn.

iloveu

237 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

mine.

— kageyama kept your relationship a secret because he wanted to protect you; but he’s probably the one that needs protection.

timeskip!kageyama tobio x IT GIRL!reader

@kageyamasluvrgirl’s request, i can't mention for some reason.

this was like in 2018+ or something so still twt.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

if you asked anyone on the adlers, or anyone who played volleyball in japan, or hell—even anyone who had seen kageyama tobio’s face plastered on a sports magazine cover—what it was like to date him, you’d probably get the same answers.

“must be hard.”

“he’s so serious all the time.”

“athletes don’t have free time.”

“he probably forgets anniversaries.”

wrong, wrong, wrong.

being kageyama tobio’s girlfriend was easy. effortless, even. he gave you everything without realizing he was giving it: his trust, his time, his ridiculous need to feed you every new snack he discovered. and he loved you in the only way he knew how—direct, blunt, without a single filter.

no. the hard part wasn’t him.

the hard part was being you.

because you weren’t just a normal girlfriend. you were THE it girl.

and unfortunately for kageyama, that meant the entire world wanted you, too.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the first problem was the games.

people swore they came to watch volleyball, but the moment you took a front-row seat, it was over. the match was background noise. the main event was you: sunglasses perched on your nose, outfit coordinated like you were walking a runway, legs crossed casually like the stadium belonged to you.

and the tweets proved it.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@volleychokehold: i’m supposed to be watching adlers vs black jackals but i can’t stop staring at the girl in the front row.

@kneepadsandknees: WHO is she?? how do we get her instagram??

@netblock69: she looked at kageyama once. i’d sell my soul to be kageyama.

@hotpotboy: that girl is dressed like she’s going to brunch with god.

@thirstydinner: respectfully i would bark for her. unrespectfully i would cream for her.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

meanwhile, tobio was on the court trying not to implode.

he saw you in the crowd, staring at him like he gave you the milky way. and he loved it, god he loved it—but so did everyone else.

and he hated that.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

his breaking point wasn’t even volleyball-related.

your agency had set you up for a food/lifestyle campaign. nothing crazy—just a cute shoot for onigiri miya, osamu’s restaurant. the plan was simple: pose with the twins, eat some onigiri, laugh for the camera.

except… the pictures dropped and suddenly everyone online was screaming because the it girl was sitting between two miyas.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@onigirifan: wait wait wait… she’s collabing with OSAMU and ATSUMU????

@kneepadsnheels: nah bro this feels like a sitcom episode.

@vballtea: the way kageyama’s prolly crying rn.

@boke4life: the twins look like they’re fighting for joint custody of her.

@fashionstan88: she makes eating an onigiri look like a runway walk. i want her to eat me next.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

kageyama saw the post mid-practice.

at first, he froze. then he frowned. then he squinted at the screen like it was a physics problem.

“…why are there two ats—”

“don’t say it,” hinata groaned, he just wanted to practice with kageyama after awhile.

“no, seriously,” kageyama jabbed his phone at him. “why are there TWO atsumus??”

“that’s osamu! his twin!”

“his WHAT?”

“his twin brother! he owns the restaurant!”

“…you’re lying.”

“i’m not lying!”

“then why do they look the same?”

“BECAUSE THEY’RE TWINS.”

“…so… one’s fake?”

“oh my god.”

hinata gave up.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

by the time he got home, kageyama had worked himself into a state. his instagram blew up that night with a carousel so uncharacteristically dramatic people thought his account got hacked.

you in his hoodie, hair messy, holding a mug of tea.

you asleep on his chest with his arm around you.

a selfie of you glaring at him because he snuck a photo mid-bite of ice cream.

the two of you in matching slippers.

caption: mine.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

the replies were instant chaos:

@liberolover69: KAGEYAMA STRAIGHT UP WENT “SHE’S MINE” LMAO

@spikemeup: man saw the twin collab and blacked out.

@bestmiyatsumu: BRO???

@onigirimiyaofc: imagine beefing with me just bc i let her eat my onigiri 💀

@hinatashoyo010: kageyama, SAY THEIR NAMES. who’s who??

@kageyamaofficial: …atsumu 1 and atsumu 2.

@onigirimiyaofc: BROOOOOOO.

@bestmiyatsumu: i’m just that good??

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

home

you were lounging on the couch when he stormed in, tossed his bag, and immediately crawled onto you like a man starved.

“…tobio?” you laughed, caught under his weight. “what’s with the dramatics?”

he muffled into your neck: “why were there two atsumus.”

you blinked, then started cackling. “oh my god. babe. they’re twins.”

“no, that’s impossible.”

“tobio. they’re brothers. twins. literally born together.”

“then why do they look the same?”

“BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT TWINS ARE.”

he groaned, tightening his arms around you like he could squeeze the embarrassment away. “don’t care. mine. you’re mine.”

“you’re actually insane.” you carded your fingers through his hair.

“good.” his voice was stubborn and muffled. “stay here. cuddles now.”

and you laughed so hard your stomach hurt, but you still pulled him closer anyway.

because maybe the world saw you as the it girl,

but tobio?

you were just his girl.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: i feel so lazy.

iloveu

355 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

yes, and?

— your photo is wakatoshi’s trump card, you’re also now a mother of a few kids.

ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

ushijima is growing on me.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

ushijima wakatoshi wasn’t a man prone to exaggeration.

when he said he’d be there at seven, he was there at six fifty-five, standing exactly where he promised until the world caught up with him. when he declared practice started at three, he meant two-fifty-nine sharp. when he said he loved volleyball, you could carve it into stone and call it fact.

so when he decided he loved you, it was with the exact same weight and certainty. permanent. immovable.

to him, it was the most natural thing in the world.

to his teammates, however, it was comedy gold.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the first thing they noticed was how he left practice.

normally, ushijima wasn’t one to dawdle, but at least he would stop to towel off, take a drink, check his shoes. after all, captains were supposed to set the example.

but then you started waiting for him after practice. sometimes reading, sometimes scrolling your phone, sometimes just swinging your legs on the bench by the door.

and ushijima? he didn’t even pretend anymore. the moment coach called, “dismissed,” he was already striding for the doors.

shirabu once tried to stop him, frowning at his clipboard. “captain, we need to go over the blocking—”

“later,” ushijima said firmly, and kept walking.

by the time they peeked outside, there you were, smiling up at him. and the way his shoulders seemed to ease the second he saw you? disgusting.

to the rest of the team, it was like watching a brick wall sprout flowers.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

tendou, naturally, struck first blood.

“wow,” he drawled one afternoon, sidling up to you while ushijima packed his bag. “you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, huh?”

the team perked up, ready for your laughter, maybe even a little denial.

but before you could say a word, ushijima—who had, in fact, overheard perfectly—turned and said, in that flat baritone of his, “yes.”

the silence was deafening.

semi coughed water back into his bottle. shirabu groaned into his sleeve. goshiki muttered, “oh my god.” tendou’s grin collapsed into slack-jawed shock.

ushijima blinked at them all, steady. “is that not obvious?”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

from then on, it was open season.

“captain’s whipped,” semi would mutter.

“he probably dreams about her,” tendou teased.

“he’s going to start bringing her picture to practice,” goshiki muttered darkly.

ushijima, to their collective despair, never denied a word.

once, tendou waved his phone at him. “bet you’ve got her photo on here, huh?”

ushijima’s answer was immediate. “yes.”

then, with all the calm of a man stating court stats, he reached into his bag, pulled out his phone, tapped twice, and held it up.

“look.”

the team crowded in despite themselves.

on the screen was you, caught mid-laugh, sunlight spilling over your face, every line of you alight with joy. it was candid, unposed, and so warm it left them speechless.

“she’s perfect,” ushijima said.

and for once, no one laughed.

semi blinked rapidly. shirabu actually swallowed hard. goshiki muttered, “unfair.” tendou made a strangled noise halfway between a groan and a scream.

ushijima tucked his phone away. “then you understand.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

but he didn’t just stop there.

soon, they discovered the “photo trump card” was not an isolated event. it was a strategy. a weapon. a habit.

whenever teasing started, whenever they so much as hinted, ushijima produced your photo like a holy relic.

“captain, you’re obsessed,” tendou groaned once.

“yes,” ushijima said simply. “is that bad?”

“YES!” tendou flailed. “no—wait—I mean—it’s not bad but you don’t just admit it like that!”

“why not?” ushijima blinked.

tendou collapsed.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

and then, one night, you learned it wasn’t just the team.

you were curled up on his couch when he said casually, “i showed my mother the photo of you.”

you nearly dropped your drink. “…what? when?”

“last week. she said you have a nice smile.”

you were still processing when he added, “i also sent it to my father.”

“YOU WHAT?”

he showed you his phone, completely calm. one candid of you, sent with: this is my girlfriend. she makes me happy.

you buried your face in your hands. “toshi…”

“what is wrong?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “it’s true.”

and that was that.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

of course, the team found out. they always found out.

“you sent her picture to your parents?” tendou shrieked in the locker room, clutching his hair. “oh my god, you’re hopeless.”

ushijima blinked. “yes, and?”

semi groaned. shirabu muttered that he had no comeback. goshiki just sat down, defeated.

but the dynamic had shifted.

because the more they saw you, the more they realized: they weren’t competing with him. no one could. instead, they wanted to impress you.

not romantically—they weren’t idiots. but you laughed at their jokes, asked about their tests, baked muffins once when ushijima mentioned they were tired.

you were… mom. team mom.

and suddenly, every single one of them wanted your approval like their lives depended on it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the first game you came to was a catastrophe.

shirabu nearly tripped during warmups. semi practically threw out his shoulder trying to add flair. goshiki, was roaring louder than tendou after every spike.

“you’re embarrassing yourselves,” tendou hissed at timeout.

“you bowed at her after a spike,” shirabu snapped.

“that was showmanship!” tendou barked.

but then ushijima landed a clean kill, turned his head, and found you in the stands. he nodded once.

you lit up, clapping wildly.

he went back to position like nothing happened.

the rest of the team realized instantly: they’d never win this game.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

after the match, you came down to congratulate them. shirabu fixed his hair. semi flexed under the guise of tying his shoes. tendou tripped over himself offering to carry your bag.

you laughed, sweet and warm.

then ushijima appeared, calm as ever, took your bag himself, and said, “let’s go.”

you smiled and waved at the others as you left with him.

the silence that followed was deafening.

“…we never stood a chance,” semi muttered finally.

“no,” shirabu agreed. “but i still wanted her to say i played well.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

from then on, practices turned ridiculous.

shirabu dove for every ball like his life depended on it. semi set with flourish like he was performing at a concert. tendou attempted trick plays just to hear you laugh.

you clapped politely each time.

but when ushijima spiked, you cheered.

and that was the ball game.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the muffins came later. blueberry, packed neatly in a container you passed to tendou with a smile.

the team lost their minds.

goshiki declared it was proof you were their “real mom.” shirabu muttered, “i hate how good these are,” while reaching for his second. semi begged for the recipe.

“she made those for me,” ushijima corrected calmly.

“she made them for all of us,” tendou protested.

“because i asked her to,” ushijima said. “she wanted you to have energy.”

groans echoed through the gym. but no one left a crumb behind.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

soon, they were pestering ushijima with questions constantly.

“is she coming to the next game?”

“what’s her favorite color?”

“does she like cats or dogs?”

and ushijima answered every time.

“yes.”

“my hair.”

“both.”

they groaned, but secretly filed it away like gospel.

because you weren’t just ushijima’s anymore. you were theirs—their mom, their cheerleader, their gold star.

but at the end of the day, every time, ushijima reminded them, firm and unshakable:

“you can look. but she’s mine.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

and here was the kicker: ushijima didn’t just show you off to his team.

he showed you off to everyone.

when a taxi driver once made polite small talk—“headed home from practice?”—ushijima nodded and said, “yes. my girlfriend is waiting for me.” then, without hesitation, he added, “look,” and held out his phone to show the poor driver your picture.

the man blinked, startled. “…she’s very pretty.”

“yes,” ushijima agreed, putting the phone away.

ദ്ദി๑>؂•̀๑)

when a referee asked how the team was holding up after a long match, ushijima replied evenly, “we’re fine. my girlfriend baked us muffins.” then, as if this was crucial information, he showed the referee the exact muffins in your hands.

the man nodded politely, utterly confused.

ദ്ദി๑>؂•̀๑)

at a restaurant, when a waiter asked if he wanted dessert, ushijima pulled out his phone mid-order. “no, thank you. but look. this is my girlfriend.”

the waiter, poor soul, leaned over. “…oh. she’s beautiful.”

ushijima gave one sharp nod. “yes.”

the team never recovered.

“CAPTAIN,” tendou begged once, clutching his head. “you don’t need to show literally everyone her picture!”

“why not?” ushijima asked, calm as ever.

“because—because—! that’s not what normal people do!”

“then normal people are wrong,” ushijima said.

and that was the end of it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the team was doomed, but deep down? they didn’t mind.

because no matter how much they groaned, or teased, or whined about muffins and motherly smiles, they knew one thing for certain: ushijima wasn’t exaggerating.

you really were perfect.

and when he said, every time, “you can look. but she’s mine,” they couldn’t even argue.

because he was right.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: crazy big guy. there’s a ton of people asking for a taglist but i dunno

iloveu

481 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

D3 - D4 her and who?

timeskip!hinata shōyō x f!reader x timeskip!oikawa tōru

this is all to feed my delusions ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

day 3

by now, it’s not just volleyball twitter. the entire internet has joined in. you still don’t know — your phone is on Do Not Disturb while you hum to yourself and reheat leftovers. meanwhile, two boyfriends sit hunched over their phones like bodyguards guarding the gates of heaven, furiously typing as if your honor depends on it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

twitter timeline

@ oikawatoru · 9h

caption: she just yawned and i swear angels cried.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ shoyospike · 9h

today she called me “dummy” but in a cute voice. i win at life.

↳ @ iwaizumihajime · 8h

bro u literally lost ur passport once, don’t flex like this.

↳ @ shoyospike · 8h

ok and?? she laughed when i told her the story.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 8h

she laughs at me every day and it’s the highlight of my existence.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ zendaya · 7h

how are u two still breathing in the presence of divinity.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 7h

i ask myself this every morning.

↳ @ shoyospike · 7h

sometimes i actually forget to breathe, you should try it tbh.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ kodzuken · 7h

chat says she’s the “main character” and ur just the background NPCs.

↳ @ shoyospike · 7h

NPCs who get kisses tho.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 7h

NPCs with romance route unlocked.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ tetsuroukuroo · 6h

“romance route unlocked” bro what is this a dating sim??

↳ @ oikawatoru · 6h

life with her is a dating sim and i’m maxing affection points.

↳ @ shoyospike · 6h

i’d grind side quests forever if it means she smiles, i’d also grind on her if it helps.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ bokuto_owl · 6h

GUYS DOES SHE LIKE OWLS YET 🦉🔥

↳ @ akaashikei · 6h

he hasn’t stopped asking this for 48 hours. does she like me?

↳ @ shoyospike · 6h

if she says yes i’m uninstalling twitter.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ arianagrande · 6h

not gonna lie i’d let her ruin my life and say thank u, next.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 5h

i’ll ruin your life for her.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

your face ends up plastered on fancams, edits, even reaction memes. “goddess steals fries” is now a trending gif. hinata nearly cries when someone photoshops the fry basket out of his hands and into Harry Styles’.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

groupchat leak — “old teammates and friends foes”

[kuroo]: ngl, boys, she could run for office and win in a landslide.

[atsumu]: she wouldn’t even have to campaign. just smile on posters.

[daichi]: …y’all down bad.

[suga]: this isn’t “down bad,” this is religious devotion.

[asahi]: amen.

[ushijima]: i still think she would enjoy spinach.

[oikawa]: STOP. WORSHIPPING. OUR. GIRLFRIEND.

[kenma]: too late. chat just donated $1000 to “protect fry queen.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

twitter — afternoon

@ beyonce · 4h

she belongs on stage, the world is not ready.

↳ @ shoyospike · 4h

and you belong somewhere far away, leave our wife alone.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ chrisevans · 3h

cap’s shield is hers if she wants it.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 3h

she doesn’t need a shield she has ME.

↳ @ shoyospike · 3h

and ME. double protection.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ nayeon_ny · 3h

i volunteer as her emotional support bunny 🐰

↳ @ shoyospike · 3h

she already has one. me. i bounce good.

don't ask me.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ vbbpdates · 2h

this is insane. volleyball history made and the headline is “two clowns introduce the internet to their goddess gf.”

↳ @ iwaizumihajime · 2h

accurate.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

hinata’s curled up on the couch, dramatically whispering, “they’re all after her,” while Oikawa’s pacing like a man plotting war strategies. meanwhile, you pad in, sleepy, wearing their hoodie, asking who wants tea.

both drop their phones instantly.

in that moment, the world disappears.

and maybe, that’s why you’ll never know just how hard the world is trying to steal you, they would never succeed though.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡‎

day 4

you thought the internet would get tired by now. wrong. if anything, people are getting more deranged. and the worst offenders? your two boyfriends, athletes oikawa tōru and hinata shōyō, who now tweet like they’re your personal fan accounts.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

twitter timeline

@ oikawatoru · 9h

she sneezed. i cried.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ shoyospike · 9h

she put her hair up in a bun and i almost fainted.

↳ @ bokuto_owl · 8h

SHE CAN TIE HER HAIR???? LEGEND.

↳ @ akaashikei · 8h

bokuto. please.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ kodzuken · 8h

stream chat literally started a cult for her.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 8h

tell them to disband immediately.

↳ @ kodzuken · 8h

nah they’re writing commandments.

↳ @ shoyospike · 8h

bro wtf.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ chocol8_tendo · 7h

zoomed into her pupil and saw the gates of heaven.

↳ @ shoyospike · 7h

seek help.

↳ @ chocol8_tendo · 7h

she’s the help.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ zendaya · 6h

lowkey… if she wants marvel, i’ll get her marvel.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 6h

lowkey… log out.

↳ @ zendaya · 6h

don’t be mad at me bc she’s iconic.

↳ @ shoyospike · 6h

she’s literally just eating cereal rn.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ nayeon_ny · 6h

pls let me be her emotional support bunny.

↳ @ shoyospike · 6h

i already do that.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 6h

he’s more of a chihuahua actually.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ billieeilish · 5h

girl. cough twice if u need saving.

↳ @ shoyospike · 5h

she coughed once bc toast crumbs 😭

↳ @ billieeilish · 5h

“toast crumbs.” yeah ok.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ jungkook · 5h

if she comes to sk we’re throwing her a festival.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 5h

no you won’t.

↳ @ jungkook · 5h

yes we will.

↳ @ shoyospike · 5h

how about i throw a boulder at you.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ bettertwin · 4h

is she like… single single?

↳ @ oikawatoru · 4h

you need reading glasses.

↳ @ shoyospike · 4h

and a hearing aid.

↳ @ osamu_miya · 4h

she deserves a twin who can cook.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 4h

i’m gonna cook you both.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ chrissyteigen · 3h

does she cook or is she just pretty.

↳ @ shoyospike · 3h

she baked a few times and i saw heaven.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 3h

it was so good i considered retiring.

↳ @ chrissyteigen · 3h

ok so she’s perfect.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

and then the leaks started. dms. groupchats. chaos.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

dm leaks (because i said so.)

harry_styles → oikawatoru

mate she’s unreal. respect.

oikawatoru → harry_styles

respectfully? i’m gonna kick your ass.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

bts_taehyung → shoyospike

does she like dogs? i’ll send three.

shoyospike → bts_taehyung

she already calls me puppy. find another lane.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

straykids_chan → oikawatoru

hey hyung what’s her @. asking for the group.

oikawatoru → straykids_chan

asking for a lawsuit actually.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

groupchat leak — “old teammates and friends foes”

iwa: can’t believe i spent years babysitting you when THAT angel exists

kuroo: if she’s free friday i’ll take her out

kenma: twitch donos doubled when i said her name lmao

bokuto: I WANNA BE INCLUDED 🦉

akaashi: can you send more pictures of her

oikawa: EVERYONE SHUT UP SHE’S TAKEN

hinata: YEAH TAKEN BY US

iwa: you two don’t deserve her

tendou: she belongs to the world

oikawa: me when i lie

hinata: she just kissed me, so she belongs to me

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

and by evening, “#she” was trending in 17 countries. oikawa was pacing the hotel room muttering about international restraining orders, hinata was stress-eating grapes, and you were asleep with crumbs on your cheek, completely unaware that the entire world was fighting to worship you.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: @ reveal on d5 maybe, i’ll only do this until d6 or 7 cs, it was a sudden thought.

iloveu

51 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

her and who?

— oikawa with hinata posting you are their biggest mistake yet.

timeskip!hinata shōyō x f!reader x timeskip!oikawa tōru

i just slapped the usernames there, i’m TOO tired to search em. i’m sorry for the accidental mentions pls don’t kill me

i literally did this on a whim, running high on coffee since i suddenly saw garfingbarfing post on ig.

TIMELINE IS 2016 OR SO; THAT’S WHY IT’S STILL TWT and i refuse to do the fake twitter stuff cs i’ll only be able to upload 10 photos, no way. i don’t think i’ll do this for other characters, it just came up while i was studying.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

twitter timeline

@ oikawatoru · 3h

📍rio de janeiro

caption: reunited with the little orange gremlin 🧡 ignore him and just focus on me ✨

[photo: oikawa left, y/n in the middle, hinata right. both boys sticking tongues out like idiots. you? radiant.]

‎‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

immediate chaos ensues.

@ iwaizumihajime · 2h

bro. WHO IS THAT.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 2h

your dream girl but unfortunately she picked me 😘

↳ @ iwaizumihajime · 2h

picked you?? no way.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ king_kageyama · 2h

what’s her name.

↳ @ shoyospike · 2h

you are NOT getting it.💀

↳ @ king_kageyama · 2h

GIVE ME HER @.

↳ @ shoyospike · 2h

no.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ bettermiya · 1h

wait she’s gorgeous wtf?? hinata hand her over.

↳ @ shoyospike · 1h

hand her over??? bro what is she, a volleyball??

↳ @ oikawatoru · 1h

also, die.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

back in rio, you’re sipping a smoothie in peace, totally unaware that both men beside you are glued to their phones, scrolling through chaos.

hinata’s laughing so hard he nearly drops his cup. “bro, bokuto just said ‘she deserves me.’”

“she does not deserve him,” oikawa snaps, thumbs flying. his jaw is tight, but his knee is pressed against yours under the table, grounding. “she deserves us. only us.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

meanwhile, twitter gets worse

@ kodzuken · 55m

stream chat rn just wants her @. i’m begging y’all please.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 55m

no twitch boy.

↳ @ shoyospike · 54m

stay in ur lane gamer.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ chocol8_satori · 49m

pretty girl blink twice if THEY kidnapped YOU.

↳ @ shoyospike · 49m

we didn’t kidnap her (yet)

↳ @ oikawatoru· 48m

delete this immediately.

‎𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ zendaya · 40m

she’s unreal. who is she.

↳ @ shoyospike · 40m

sorry zendaya i love u but denied.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 39m

ma’am step away from our girlfriend.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ Harry_Styles · 36m

tell her i’ll fly to rio.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 35m

BLOCKED.

↳ @ shoyospike · 35m

get in line harry.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ rihanna · 33m

so y’all gatekeeping her huh.

↳ @ shoyospike · 32m

yes ma’am. respectfully.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

“harry styles?? rihanna???” hinata’s voice cracks like he just saw god. “they’re all asking about her, dude!”

oikawa sets his phone down, eyes narrowing. “then we just have to remind the world,” he says smoothly, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple before snapping a story. “she’s ours.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

hashtags trending:

#whosY/N #protectY/N #stepawayharry #shepickedthem???

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

later

oikawa + hinata start replying to randoms out of pure jealousy. hinata argues with a rando fan for 20 tweets straight. oikawa writes “respectfully, perish” to cha eunwoo. kodzuken streams and chat spams “#freeY/N.”

meanwhile, you’re scrolling tiktok blissfully watching dance challenges, totally unaware that the world is burning down in your honor.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

this man will post a story, he never learns.

@ oikawatoru · 29m

[photo: you sipping from your straw, his jacket over your shoulders, his hand on your thigh.]

caption: mine.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the internet was already in flames, but that photo? gasoline. suddenly every corner of twitter was screaming—sports fans, music fans, kpop stans, even people who didn’t know how to spell volleyball.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

@ randomfan999 · 27m

nah oikawa marking his territory like a golden retriever is actually killing me

@ akaashikei · 26m

it’s not marking territory if he’s literally growling in the comments.

@ bokuto_owl · 25m

pick me instead 🦉💍

↳ @ akaashikei · 25m

no.

‎𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ Harry_Styles · 24m

i respect the jacket move but she would look better in mine.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 23m

respectfully, harry, you should focus on your concerts instead of MY girlfriend.

↳ @ shoyospike · 23m

@ Harry_Styles she doesn’t even listen to your music like that bro 😭😭😭

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ rihanna · 22m

not u boys blocking harry in real time.

↳ @ shoyospike · 22m

we’ll block you too if we have to 😔✋

↳ @ rihanna · 21m

lmfao i respect it. carry on.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

back at the café, hinata’s practically vibrating with laughter, tears in his eyes as he shoves his phone at you.

“babe, babe, look—rihanna said she respects us!!”

oikawa, however, is not laughing. he’s scrolling so fast his thumb blurs, jaw tight, muttering about “how dare harry think he has a chance.” you pat his arm soothingly, sip your smoothie again, and both boys soften instantly like whipped puppies.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

meanwhile, twitter spiraled further.

@ zendaya · 20m

this is a public request: drop her @.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 20m

hi queen zendaya, no.

↳ @ shoyospike · 19m

u already have tom pls leave us our girlfriend 🥺

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ hybe · 18m

who is she and why is she not an ambassador already

↳ @ oikawatoru · 18m

she’s already ambassador to my heart ❤️

↳ @ shoyospike · 17m

delete pls.

♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

your phone buzzes again, and you notice oikawa’s screen lighting up with a dozen notifications a second. he hasn’t stopped glaring at it. hinata, on the other hand, is openly live-tweeting his meltdown.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

@ shoyospike · 16m

actually insane how ppl see her smile once and immediately wanna marry her. like chill she already married to us (spiritually).

↳ @ oikawatoru · 16m

take spiritually out.

↳ @ shoyospike · 15m

physically, emotionally, metaphysically. better?

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ kodzuken · 14m

my stream chat rn: 90% “free Y/N.” guys. GUYS.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 14m

i’ll free YOU from life.

↳ @ shoyospike · 13m

LMAOOO GET HIM OIKAWA

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ hoshiumi_k · 12m

wait why does she look like she could spike better than hinata.

↳ @ shoyospike · 12m

??? shut up chicken little.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 11m

she absolutely could.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the funniest part is that you don’t even know what’s happening. you’re scrolling tiktok, watching cat videos, while the entire internet falls to its knees for you. hinata is grinning like an idiot, oikawa looks ready to start international war, and all you’ve done is exist.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the hashtags keep stacking:

#whosY/N

#stepawayharry

#protectY/N

#oikawaislosingit

#hinataneedshelp

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

@ randomceleb23 · 9m

don’t even care about volleyball but she’s literally ethereal.

@ kpopstanlife · 9m

petition to debut her in a girl group immediately

↳ @ shoyospike · 9m

no. she’s debuting in OUR house as OUR wife.

‎𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ mbappe · 7m

if she wants to come watch football in paris she has a seat waiting.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 7m

take your cleats and go home.

↳ @ shoyospike · 7m

mbappe ur fast but u ain’t fast enough to steal her sorry bro 😔

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the jealousy is palpable now. oikawa posts another photo—this time a blurry close-up of your hands intertwined with theirs. hinata immediately follows with a video of you laughing, his arm slung tight around your shoulders. the captions don’t even try to hide it anymore.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

@ oikawatoru · 5m

she’s ours. stop asking.

@ shoyospike · 5m

OURS.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

twitter loses its mind.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ fanacc999 · 4m

they’re literally going feral.

@ cryingaccount · 4m

god i wanna be fought over like this

↳ @ akaashikei · 4m

not like you’ll be as beautiful as her but you have a dream.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

you’re so pretty, you attract everyone.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ charlidamelio · 3m

girl pls duet a dance with me

↳ @ shoyospike · 3m

blocked.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ shawnmendes · 2m

can she at least hear me out 😭

↳ @ oikawatoru · 2m

no.

↳ @ shoyospike · 2m

what part of “ours” don’t u get??

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

by the end of the day, the hashtag #handsOffY/N is trending worldwide. everyone wants to know who you are. everyone wants your @. and oikawa and hinata? they’re sitting on either side of you in the hotel room, scrolling with identical looks of grim satisfaction as they watch the world descend into chaos.

“they can scream all they want,” oikawa murmurs, resting his head on your shoulder.

hinata buries his face into your side, muffled voice cheerful but stubborn. “but you’re not going anywhere.”

and with both of them holding on like you’re the only thing tethering them to earth—you believe it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

day 2

@ oikawatoru · 4h

caption: life is unfair when ur gf looks like a goddess even while bullying u 💔

[photo: you stealing fries off his plate, oikawa fake crying, hinata cackling in the bg]

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ shoyospike · 4h

she laughed harder when she stole my fries 😭 soulmates confirmed

↳ @ iwaizumihajime · 3h

nah she just likes fries, dumbass.

↳ @ akaashikei · 3h

iwaizumi’s right. she’s demonstrating dominance.

↳ @ bokuto_owl · 3h

SHE CAN DEMONSTRATE DOMINANCE OVER ME TOO 🦉🔥

↳ @ akaashike1 · 3h

she won’t.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ kodzuken · 3h

chat says she’s way out of ur league. unanimous vote.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 3h

tell ur chat they can catch these hands.

↳ @ kodzuken · 3h

they said they’d “speedrun ur life.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ chocol8_tendo · 2h

blink twice if THEY kidnapped YOU.

↳ @ shoyospike · 2h

STOP SAYING THAT SHE’S HAPPY AND SHE LIKES FRIES

↳ @ chocol8_tendo · 2h

classic stockholm syndrome.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ zendaya · 2h

ok but imagine if she starred in a show with me.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 2h

imagine minding your own business, zendaya.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ billieeilish · 1h

girl if u ever get tired of being their gf lmk, i’ll adopt u.

↳ @ shoyospike · 1h

SHE DOESN’T NEED A NEW FAMILY STOPPPP

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ jungkook · 1h

south korea is waiting 🇰🇷

↳ @ oikawatoru · 1h

i WILL spike a ball on your face.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ oliviarodrigo · 55m

i’d write six entire breakup albums about her.

↳ @ shoyospike · 55m

funny bc there’s nothing to break up she’s NOT DATING YOU

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ straykidsreal · 50m

our group chat rn: “who’s dropping the first dm??”

↳ @ felixsunshiine · 49m

okay but her smile >>> everything.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 49m

u guys are literally 8 people LEAVE HER ALONE.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ beyonce · 45m

she owns the stage without stepping on it.

↳ @ shoyospike · 44m

😫 she can step on me instead.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

at a restaurant, fries continue to disappear into your mouth as your boyfriends spiral deeper into online warfare. oikawa’s scrolling like his life depends on it, muttering “beyoncé?? really??” while hinata keeps shoving fries in his mouth like comfort food. you don’t notice any of this.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

groupchat leak — “old teammates & friends foes”

[atsumu]: drop her @ rn or i’ll fight both of u in the airport.

[kuroo]: respectfully, oikawa, ur out of ur depth here. she’s fine.

[iwa]: THIS IS A FACT. you got lucky once, don’t test god again.

[kenma]: twitch donos jumped by 5k when i mentioned her. chat calls her “queen fry.”

[bokuto]: DOES SHE LIKE OWLS YES OR NO 🦉

[akaashi]: bokuto, i swear to god.

[tendou]: the fries symbolize captivity.

[ushijima]: i think she would like spinach.

[sugawara]: hi hello, just wanted to say she’s beautiful 💕

[oikawa renamed the chat → “STOP HITTING ON OUR GF”]

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

twitter — 30m later

@ haaland · 30m

man city has a VIP box waiting for her anytime.

↳ @ shoyospike · 30m

she doesn’t like football stopppppp

↳ @ oikawatoru · 30m

YES SHE DOES SHE WATCHED ONE GAME AND CHEERED FOR A THROW-IN

↳ @ shoyospike · 29m

IDC. STOP ENCOURAGING THEM?

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ rihanna · 25m

i’d let her model for fenty for free.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 25m

LEAVE OUR WIFE ALONE.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ jackblack · 20m

petition to cast her in school of rock 2.

↳ @ shoyospike · 20m

no she’s busy eating fries with us.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the comments snowball. volleyball bros, hollywood A-listers, k-pop idols, random athletes—everyone’s desperate for your attention. but you? you’re just reaching over to steal one last fry, grinning when hinata smacks oikawa’s hand away from the basket like a jealous child.

to them, it’s the apocalypse.

to you, it’s just lunch.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: yea i do have the day three in my drafts, i don’t want to edit it just yet. so y’all better pray that my new phone arrives soon. one day i’ll do a taglist

iloveu

171 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

his power up

— your result in cheering for kenma is so horrifying that it gives coach nekomata high blood pressure.

kozume kenma x f!reader

c: fluff fluff fluff!!

we love kenma in this blog, i wanna bite him

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

it’s honestly unfair how one person can completely alter the trajectory of kenma’s entire existence. unfair for his teammates, specifically, because the second your voice cuts across the gym and he catches the tiniest whiff of “let’s go, kenma!!” — that man? that quiet, introverted, chronically tired man? suddenly morphs into a shonen protagonist in his final battle arc.

like, nekoma is playing their usual solid match. steady rallies, defense like a brick wall, kuroo tossing in his trademark smirk every five seconds, yamamoto screaming unnecessarily (as always). kenma’s doing his usual thing too — calculating, calm, setting like his brain is a quantum computer but his body language is “i’d rather be gaming right now.”

and then. and then.

you, from the stands, cup your hands around your mouth and yell, “LET’S GO, KENMA!!!”

you’d think you’d just announced his name as the olympic torchbearer.

kenma blinks, ears going pink. kuroo glances at him like, huh? yamamoto almost trips because he’s too busy craning his neck to see you. coach nekomata raises an eyebrow.

but then kenma — sweet little kenma, who moves like he’s allergic to exertion — suddenly dives for a ball like his life’s insurance depends on it. and not just a normal dive. no, it’s one of those anime dives with sparkles and slow motion. he’s airborne for approximately three business days.

“WHAT THE—” kuroo yelps, barely adjusting to the perfect set kenma did while still in midair.

“nice receive!!” yamamoto screams, but his voice cracks because he’s terrified.

the ball slams onto the other side of the court with the kind of precision you usually only see in highlight reels.

the gym goes silent.

you’re clapping happily, like, “yay, kenma!” oblivious to the fact that you’ve just unleashed a force of nature.

kenma pushes his hair back from his face, panting lightly, and mutters to himself: she’s watching.

and then proceeds to play like this is the olympics, the world cup, and a death match combined.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the rest of the team? they’re suffering.

“WHERE WAS THIS ENERGY BEFORE?!” coach nekomata screams, clutching a clipboard like he’s seconds away from throwing it. “KENMA, YOU DON’T EVEN RUN IN PRACTICE! WHY ARE YOU SPRINTING LIKE AN ALL-STAR NOW?!”

kenma doesn’t respond. he’s locked in. laser-focused. he’s setting with deadly accuracy, reading the court like he has a third eye, and moving with a speed that defies his usual “i’ll just stand here, thanks” attitude.

“he’s possessed,” lev whispers dramatically from the bench. “y/n is like his exorcism trigger word—wait, no, opposite of exorcism. possession trigger word.”

“shut up, lev,” yaku snaps, but he’s also watching kenma like he’s seeing a cryptid.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

meanwhile, kenma’s internal monologue is just you. you, you and you.

‘she’s cheering for me. did she see that? i have to do better. i’ll show her. she’ll never look away. if i keep this up, she’ll only ever cheer my name. only mine.’

he sneaks glances at you between plays — flushed cheeks, his heartbeat thundering, hands twitching because he wants to hold yours, wants to know if you’ll smile at him the same way when the game is over. every single time you clap or grin or call his name again, it’s like hitting the turbo boost in mario kart.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

by the second set, the opposing team is traumatized.

“why does it feel like we’re playing against two teams?” one of them mutters.

because, well. kenma has activated “girlfriend buff” mode, and there’s no counter-strategy for that.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

at one point, kuroo calls a time-out and corners him.

“bro. bro. what’s going on?” kuroo hisses. “i’ve known you my whole life. you don’t hustle. you literally hate hustling. but right now you’re… you’re—”

kenma deadpans, “she’s watching.”

kuroo stares. “that’s it? that’s literally it?”

kenma shrugs. “isn’t that enough?”

and kuroo, to his horror, realizes: yeah. it is.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the game ends in nekoma’s victory, and kenma’s teammates collapse in a sweaty heap.

“we’ve never played like that in our lives,” yamamoto gasps, sprawled out on the floor.

“i aged ten years,” yaku mutters, chugging water.

“my soul left my body,” lev says helpfully.

coach nekomata is still yelling at his clipboard. “UNBELIEVABLE. YOU HAD THIS IN YOU THE WHOLE TIME? WHY DO YOU ONLY UNLOCK IT WHEN YOUR GIRLFRIEND SHOWS UP?!”

kenma ignores all of them. he’s already walking over to you, face flushed, hair damp with sweat.

you beam at him, clapping like he just single-handedly saved japan from a meteor. “kenma!! you were amazing!”

and kenma — stoic, shy, gamer kenma — straight up melts. like butter in a frying pan. like ice cream on a hot sidewalk.

“…thanks,” he mumbles, scratching his cheek, but his golden eyes are locked on yours like you’re the only thing that exists.

then, in a rare burst of boldness (probably the adrenaline still in his system), he blurts: “did you… like it?”

you blink. “like what?”

“me. playing like that.”

your smile is so warm it nearly stops his heart. “of course i did, kenma. you were incredible. i’m so proud of you.”

and that’s it. he’s done for. absolutely gone. internally, he’s already engraving your words onto a shrine in his brain. he’ll replay them later while lying in bed, over and over, like his favorite game soundtrack.

outwardly, he just nods, pink-faced, and mutters, “okay.”

but inside? it’s a mess of ‘she’s proud of me. she’s proud. i’ll keep doing this. i’ll always do this for her. i want her to only ever look at me like that. only me.’

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

meanwhile, the rest of nekoma watches from the bench.

“we lost him,” kuroo sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“lost who?” yamamoto asks.

“kenma,” kuroo says grimly. “he belongs to y/n now. we’ll never get him back.”

and they all nod, solemnly accepting the truth.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the thing is, kenma doesn’t even care. he’s never cared less. because you’re here, you’re smiling at him, you’re saying his name like it’s the only one worth remembering.

and for kenma, oh, that’s all he ever wanted.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: i have another one that i should post but i am HUNGRY, brb in a few hours.

iloveu

116 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

clap

— you and tōru are married, well– you just don’t know it, yet but you’ll figure it out!

oikawa tōru x f!reader

c: fluff fluff fluff fluff!! and second hand embarrassment.

how i came up with this? idk, i was bored.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

oikawa tōru had been called dramatic before—by his teammates, his coach, passing strangers, and most often, by iwaizumi hajime, who claimed he’d develop an ulcer from secondhand embarrassment if he kept babysitting oikawa’s antics.

but this? this was not drama.

this was fate.

the moment your palms came together in a tiny burst of sound, so soft compared to the thunderous applause of the rest of the crowd, oikawa felt it.

it was during a home game, the gym buzzing with cheers, banners waving, classmates screaming his name like it was their duty. normally, he thrived in it. he lived for the spotlight, the adoring eyes, the chants of “oikawa! oikawa!” filling his ears like music.

but then it happened.

he’d scored a point—of course he had, because he was perfect—and as he turned to bask in the glory, his eyes brushed across the crowd. and there you were.

you weren’t yelling like the others, not screaming his name or waving a sign with glitter glued letters. you just smiled—soft, shy, reserved—and then you clapped.

three simple claps.

oikawa swore his heart exploded right then and there.

“oi, watch it!” iwaizumi barked as the ball nearly slipped from oikawa’s hands.

but it was too late.

with a sharp inhale, chest heaving like he’d just been shot, oikawa dropped the ball, raised a trembling finger, and pointed at you across the gymnasium with all the intensity of a man confessing under oath.

“THIS ONE’S FOR MY WIFE!!”

the silence that fell over the gym was biblical.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

you nearly spilled your drink.

your entire row of classmates turned to stare at you, mouths hanging open, eyes bouncing between you and the captain of the seijoh volleyball team who had just, in front of an entire audience, declared you his wife.

“wait—what?” you whispered to yourself, face burning hot enough to cook ramen on.

oikawa’s expression was deadly serious, chest heaving, hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, eyes wild and devoted like you’d just walked down the aisle in a white gown.

the ball thudded anticlimactically against the floor, forgotten.

“oikawa!” iwaizumi roared, stomping toward him, but oikawa didn’t move. didn’t blink. didn’t breathe. he just kept staring at you, finger still pointed, as though daring the universe itself to contradict him.

and in your frozen silence, cheeks red, hands flailing awkwardly, you made the fatal mistake of not denying it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the match carried on, but for oikawa, it was already won.

every serve, every toss, every point scored from that moment forward was for you. he whipped the ball with the ferocity of a groom fighting for his bride’s honor. his footwork was sharp, his plays flawless, but every single one ended with him sneaking glances at the stands, searching for your reaction.

you clapped once? good. you smiled once? he’d never forget it.

iwaizumi nearly lost his voice yelling at him to “FOCUS, DUMBASS” because oikawa was seconds away from carving a heart into the court mid-game.

and when the final whistle blew, when seijoh claimed victory, oikawa didn’t celebrate with his team.

he didn’t jump into the air, didn’t pose for the cameras, didn’t let his teammates drag him into a group huddle.

instead, he ran.

directly toward you.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the crowd parted like the red sea as oikawa skidded to a halt by the barrier separating players from spectators. he yanked his sweatband from his wrist, still warm from his pulse, and thrust it out toward you like he was offering you a diamond ring.

“for you, my love,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and sincerity.

people screamed. cameras flashed. your soul left your body.

you stared at the sweatband, then at him. “um. thanks?”

and that was it.

that was the moment he fell irrevocably, irreparably, catastrophically in love with you.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

“what the hell was that stunt?!” iwaizumi grabbed oikawa by the collar the second they stepped off the court.

“what stunt?” oikawa blinked innocently, still replaying your startled expression in his head like it was his favorite movie.

“‘THIS ONE’S FOR MY WIFE’?!” iwaizumi mimicked in a mocking tone, shaking him. “you don’t even know her!”

“don’t even know her?” oikawa gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been betrayed. “iwa, she clapped for me.”

“so?”

“SO?!” oikawa wailed. “so that means she loves me! she acknowledges me! she accepts me! that’s basically a wedding vow!”

matsukawa, who had been listening from the bench, snorted. “you’re a lunatic.”

“no, he’s a romantic,” hanamaki corrected, smirking. “a dangerously unstable romantic.”

“thank you,” oikawa said primly, flipping his hair despite still being sweaty.

iwaizumi groaned, looking skyward like he was begging divine intervention. “someone save me.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the problem was that oikawa didn’t stop there.

the next morning, you walked into class groggy, coffee in hand, only to nearly trip over the bouquet of pastel-colored flowers sitting on your desk.

tucked between the stems was a note written in sparkling gel pen:

good morning, my beautiful wife 💍💙

signed: your future husband, oikawa tōru.

you buried your face in your hands, ignoring the giggles of your classmates who were already snapping photos to post online.

by lunch, he was at your side, sliding into the seat across from you with the grace of someone who thought he was starring in a romance drama.

“don’t worry, i’ll take care of you,” he said, opening his bento with a flourish.

“we’re not married,” you mumbled weakly, shoving rice into your mouth to avoid eye contact.

“yet,” he replied smoothly, feeding you a piece of tamago with his chopsticks before you could protest.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

it became routine frighteningly fast.

he carried your books to class. he walked you home after school, ignoring the death stares of every other boy who wanted to do the same. he updated his twitter bio to: taken 💙 happily married to the love of my life.

every time you laughed at his jokes, his heart rate spiked dangerously. every time you touched his arm in passing, he went home and wrote about it in his journal like it was scripture.

he was perfect at hiding just how far it went—how he’d memorized your schedule, how he’d scrolled through your social media at three in the morning, how he couldn’t fall asleep without clutching that sweatband he gave you in his imagination.

but to you, he was just oikawa being oikawa. dramatic, clingy, annoyingly persistent.

and maybe, just maybe, a little sweet.

because when you had a rough day and he showed up with your favorite snack “to cheer up my wife,” you couldn’t help but smile. when he defended you against some rude classmate with a venom you’d never heard before, you felt your heart lurch. and when he looked at you with that same wild, unshakable devotion he’d had on the court, you wondered if maybe clapping hadn’t been such a small thing after all.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

to everyone else, it was a joke.

to oikawa tōru, it was destiny.

because as far as he was concerned, he didn’t need a ring, or a wedding, or anyone’s permission.

he already had what mattered most—your clap. your acknowledgment. your smile.

and he’d spend every day proving that you weren’t just his wife in his heart.

you were his forever.

and if anyone tried to take you from him—well, they’d never clap again.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: tōru so yummyyyy

iloveu

154 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

D5 - D6 her and who?

timeskip!hinata shōyō x f!reader x timeskip!oikawa tōru

delusions, delusions.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

day 5

it was bound to happen. four days of the internet clawing at the walls for a glimpse of you, and some rando finally cracked. one blurry photo from the olympic stands, paired with your real @. within minutes, the world was on its knees.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

twitter timeline

@ volleyballleaks · 10h

BREAKING: found her. this is allegedly oikawa + hinata’s girl. @ y/n

(photo: a zoomed-in shot of you laughing with popcorn in hand)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ shoyospike · 10h

delete this rn before i dig ur grave myself

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ oikawatoru · 10h

seriously. delete it.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ tendou_satori · 9h

this man is already dead huh

↳ @ iwaizumihajime · 9h

probably in oikawa’s backyard

↳ @ shoyospike · 9h

wrong. our backyard

↳ @ tendou_satori · 9h

oh so hinata did it this time cool cool

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

and then…

the chaos doubled when your @ went public.

oikawa had your phone first.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ y/n · 8h

stop asking her out she already has two boyfriends (– oikawa)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ zendaya · 8h

@ y/n girl it’s okay to upgrade 👀

↳ @ y/n · 8h

do you mean downgrade. (– oikawa)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ nayeon_ny · 8h

@ y/n if u ever wanna wife a girl instead… call me.

↳ @ y/n · 8h

she doesn’t own a phone anymore actually (– oikawa)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ jungkook · 7h

@ y/n sk is waiting 😘

↳ @ y/n · 7h

no it’s not (– hinata)

↳ @ jungkook · 7h

bro why u answering for her??

↳ @ y/n · 7h

because i live in her house that’s why (– hinata)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ chrissyteigen · 7h

@ y/n what’s your banana bread recipe

↳ @ y/n · 7h

classified. (– hinata)

↳ @ chrissyteigen · 7h

i’ll fight you.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

brands start begging. why? you’re gorgeous.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ netflix · 6h

@ y/n please star in a romcom.

↳ @ y/n · 6h

she’s busy starring in my life. (– oikawa)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ taco_bell · 6h

@ y/n free tacos for life if u dump them.

↳ @ y/n · 6h

i’ll dump your body in a shredder. (– oikawa)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ gucci · 6h

@ y/n walk our runway or we’ll cancel fashion week.

↳ @ y/n · 6h

cancel it then. (– oikawa)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

politicians too. why? stop asking me, idk.

@ barackobama · 5h

@ y/n if you ever need a personal chef let me know.

↳ @ y/n · 5h

sir you’re retired go knit. (– hinata)

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

groupchat — “she’s ONLINE”

kenma: she’s tweeting.

bokuto: SHE’S TWEETING??? 🦉

akaashi: or… they’re tweeting for her.

iwa: yeah it’s definitely those clowns.

atsumu: idc. i’m still shooting my shot.

tendou: @ y/n marry me challenge.

ushijima: would she prefer carrots or cucumbers?

hinata: STOP TALKING ABOUT HER

oikawa: deleting this chat rn

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

dms

harry_styles → @ y/n

hi angel, if you ever need a duet partner…

@ y/n (hinata)

she already sings with me in the shower.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

ariana_grande → @ y/n

u want me to ghost write love songs for u?

@ y/n (oikawa)

do you want me to turn you into a ghost?

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

hyunjin_skz → @ y/n

pls just say hi my whole group is begging

@ y/n (hinata)

tell them to beg harder.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

by the end of the day, @ y/n was the fastest-growing account in history. 20 million followers, 0 actual posts from you, just two feral athletes fighting celebrities and brands in your name.

and the guy who leaked your @? deleted. account gone. and rumor had it, so was he.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

day 6

nobody expected it. five days of silence, of oikawa and hinata puppeteering your account like deranged secretaries, and then… you posted.

not them. not signed by them. you.

a simple photo. pancakes stacked high, dripping syrup, captioned:

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

instagram

@ y/n · 7h

good morning :) (photo: three pancakes, badly lit, half a strawberry falling off the plate)

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the world implodes.

♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

twitter timeline

@ kodzuken · 7h

THEY’RE PANCAKES. WHY AM I CRYING OVER PANCAKES.

@ bokuto_owl · 7h

SHE SAID GOOD MORNING 🦉 GOOD MORNING TO U TOO QUEEN

↳ @ akaashikei · 7h

bokuto calm down it’s just food

@ akaashikei · 7h

actually nvm GOOD MORNING Y/N <3

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ iwaizumihajime · 7h

the way she’s got olympians AND celebrities simping over… carbs. also hi, i love you.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ shoyospike · 6h

she made those pancakes with love.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ oikawatoru · 6h

GET TF AWAY FROM OUR WIFE ???

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ netflix · 6h

greenlighting “the girl who made pancakes” as a limited series.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ chrissyteigen · 6h

i could make better pancakes tbh.

↳ @ shoyospike · 1h

kys.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ rihanna · 6h

@ y/n drop the skincare routine OR the pancake recipe.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 6h

neither.

↳ @ rihanna · 6h

alright fight me then.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

groupchat — “breakfast cult”

kenma: 4 million likes in 2 hours

atsumu: FOR PANCAKES

tendou: i got chills when i read “good morning”

bokuto: she basically said it TO ME 🦉

iwa: you need help. all of you. will you tell her to text me sometime?

ushijima: what kind of flour does she use.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ starbucks · 5h

@ y/n pls let us collab. y/n x frappuccino.

↳ @ shoyospike · 5h

i’m gonna shove frappuccinos down your throats.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ ihop · 5h

queen. marry us.

↳ @ oikawatoru · 5h

delete your account.

↳ @ shoyospike · 5h

no, delete yourself.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

@ nike · 5h

she just did more marketing for breakfast than we’ve ever done.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

dms roll in, once again.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

jungkook → @ y/n

morning gorgeous. pancakes look fire 😋

@ y/n (oikawa)

delete ur tongue emoji or i’ll delete ur career.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

harry_styles → @ y/n

do you need a fork? i can bring one.

@ y/n (oikawa)

i’ll stab you with a fork.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

ariana_grande → @ y/n

can i taste test…?

@ y/n (hinata)

no.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

the pancakes hit 12 million likes before noon. “good morning :)” was trending in 18 languages. sermons were written. fan edits with church choirs went viral.

and in the middle of it all, oikawa and hinata were kneeling on the kitchen floor, clutching their phones, worshiping your pancakes like holy relics.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡‎

♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: since when did my bf get jealous, gahdamn, shocked me.

iloveu

42 notes · View notes

miffysoo · 1 day ago

Text

deranged

— you think kenma dislikes you but he’s just over there, crashing out about how pretty you are.

kozume kenma x telepath!f!reader

i accidentally deleted this shit and the undo button wouldn’t work so i had a mental breakdown for 30mins.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

you had always been convinced kenma kozume couldn’t stand you.

the evidence was damning: no eye contact, minimal replies, a habit of immediately flicking open his switch the second you approached, like you were some kind of warning notification he could swipe away. once, you’d sat beside him on the gym floor and watched his entire body tense like you’d dumped a bucket of cold water on him. another time, you’d waved at him across the court and thought—swear to god—you saw him flinch.

to you, it was obvious: kenma didn’t like you. maybe not hatred, but at the very least, a strong, silent please don’t talk to me.

and that was fine. you could deal. it wasn’t like you had a huge crush on him or anything. just a small one. a manageable one. one you kept tucked away in the corner of your chest, easy to ignore because, really, there was no chance. crushes on boys who couldn’t stand your existence were a dead end.

then you woke up one morning with mind-reading powers.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

at first, it was disorienting—little bursts of sentences that weren’t yours sneaking into your head when people walked by. nothing dramatic, just random stuff like don’t forget to buy milk or god i hope coach doesn’t make us run sprints today. you thought maybe you were overtired. maybe hallucinating.

but then you sat next to kenma.

from the outside, he looked exactly the same: slouched shoulders, hair half hiding his face, switch balanced in his hands, fingers tapping slowly. he didn’t look at you when you sat down. he didn’t greet you. just… the same as always.

but his mind?

‘don’t sit next to me don’t sit next to me don’t sit next to— oh my god. she’s sitting next to me. she’s right here. her sleeve just brushed mine. i’m gonna combust. my heart’s gonna explode out of my chest. breathe. kenma, breathe. you look insane. do i smell bad? what if she notices? don’t look at her. no—look at her. just a peek. no, that’s worse. oh god she’s so close. her shampoo smells like candy. i want to bury my face in her hair. no no no. abort. abort. stop thinking. stop thinking.’

you blinked.

…what.

you turned your head slightly. kenma’s expression was unreadable, bored, as if he wasn’t secretly narrating a live breakdown in your head.

“hey, kenma,” you said carefully.

he nodded, not looking up. “…hey.”

but his brain?

‘she said hi. she said hi to me. she’s talking to me on purpose. play it cool. don’t scream. don’t blurt something stupid. don’t confess to her right here like a maniac. she looks really pretty when she talks. god, i sound deranged. she’s gonna think i’m deranged. oh no. oh no.’

you nearly choked on your own breath.

this boy. this boy you thought hated you. this boy was hopeless.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

it became addicting, listening in. like you’d unlocked the director’s commentary for a movie you thought you’d already seen, only to realize the entire plot was different.

when you offered him chips after practice, he barely glanced at you. “no, thanks.”

but in his head: ‘oh my god. she’s offering me food. like we’re close. like we’re already sharing snacks in a relationship. i should say yes. say yes. wait, i said no?? why did i say no?? i’m an idiot. she’s gonna think i don’t care. i care so much. i’d eat every single chip out of her hand if she asked. no, too much. too creepy. oh my god delete that thought delete delete delete.’

when you sneezed during study hall, he didn’t look up from his notes.

‘that was so cute. bless you. wait, she didn’t hear me. should i say it out loud? no, too late. i’ll just think it extra hard. bless you bless you bless you. i want to wrap her in a million blankets and make her tea. i’ll fight every germ in the universe. i’ll wage war on bacteria if i have to.’

it was ridiculous. it was deranged. it was kind of adorable.

and it made your tiny crush grow claws.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the funniest part was when kuroo got involved.

“y/n,” kuroo called across the gym one afternoon, “you coming to the arcade with us later?”

you opened your mouth to answer, but kenma’s brain detonated first.

‘no. no no no. she can’t. not with kuroo. he’s tall. he’s funny. he makes everyone laugh. what if she likes him? what if she stands next to him at the claw machine and smiles at him? i’ll die. i’ll break every machine in the arcade. i’ll throw myself into the skee-ball pit. i’ll yank the plug out of the wall. no arcade. no kuroo. please, god, no.’

you glanced at kenma. he was calmly clicking his switch. absolutely blank-faced.

“…sure,” you said, just to see what would happen.

kenma’s mind went into nuclear meltdown. ‘she said yes. this is it. i’ve lost. goodbye, cruel world. i’ll haunt the arcade machines forever. kuroo’s gonna make her laugh and i’ll keel over. i should fake a fever. i should set the arcade on fire. no, that’s a felony. oh my god.’

“cool,” kuroo grinned, clearly oblivious to the psychic death spiral happening two feet away.

you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom to laugh.

♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

at the arcade, kenma stuck to your side the entire time. not that he admitted it. he walked behind you, a careful half-step, like he just happened to be moving at the same pace.

but in his head? ‘don’t let her wander off with kuroo. stay close. closer. if she reaches for his tokens, i’ll chop my own hand off and offer it instead. god, she looks so cute when she concentrates on the claw machine. she’s biting her lip. oh my god. oh my god. i’d let her crush my head with that claw. i’d thank her for it.’

you nearly dropped your stuffed animal prize.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

practice wasn’t any better.

when you clapped for him after a clean set, he barely looked up.

‘she’s clapping for me. she saw me. she noticed me. that’s it, i’m retiring. my career peaked. bury me now. she’s so supportive. i’d play until my fingers bled if she was the one cheering. oh god, she’s smiling. don’t smile back. no, smile back. wait, don’t. too late.’

he smiled—tiny, barely there. you almost melted.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

and then, one evening, there was a team sleepover at kuroo’s place. you’d been invited too, mostly because no one had the heart to leave you out.

you ended up on the couch beside kenma, legs tucked under you, blanket shared between you. his body was stiff as a statue, but his head was screaming.

‘we’re sharing a blanket. we’re literally sharing. this is basically marriage. our knees touched. i can feel her warmth. don’t move. don’t breathe too loud. oh my god, what if she hears my heartbeat? it’s so loud. i’m sweating. i’m disgusting. she’s so pretty up close. she’s gonna notice i’m staring. stop staring. stop. i want to hold her hand. no. no. i’d ruin everything. but her hand’s right there. her nails are cute. i’d paint them for her. i’d let her stab me with them. oh my god, i’m insane. i’m insane.’

you couldn’t stop the tiny laugh that bubbled out of you.

kenma flinched. “…what?”

“nothing,” you said, hiding your grin in the blanket.

but you reached out anyway, sliding your fingers over his.

he went still. then, slowly, his hand turned under yours, palm up, holding on.

his mind went quiet for half a second—then exploded. ‘don’t let go. don’t ever let go. mine. mine. mine.’

and maybe, you thought, as your heart pounded, you didn’t plan to let go either.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

you thought maybe kenma would relax once the blanket-sharing moment passed, but no. the longer the night went on, the more his mind spiraled. while everyone else played cards, ate pizza, and shouted over each other, you sat beside him, and his head was a storm.

‘she’s right here. she’s leaning against me. she doesn’t even realize. her hair brushed my shoulder. i want to bury my face in it. i want to lock every door so no one can come between us. i’d carry her into another room and keep her there, just us, just—no. no. calm down. don’t scare her. breathe. pretend to game. act normal. do NOT let kuroo sit on her other side. i’ll kill him. i won’t. but i’ll want to. oh my god, she’s laughing. she’s laughing at yaku’s joke. i wish it was me. i’d sell my soul if she laughed at me like that.’

your cheeks warmed. he sat so stiff, pretending he wasn’t burning up inside, while his brain looped mine mine mine like a broken record.

and you realized something important: kenma kozume was not just yearning. he was starving.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

by the next week, it was unbearable. for him, and, honestly, for you too.

you went to watch practice, sitting on the bleachers with a snack. kenma, on the court, barely glanced at you once.

inside?

‘she came. she came just to watch. she’s eating pocky. i want one. not the box—hers. the exact stick she bit into. is that gross? it’s gross. i don’t care. i’d do worse. oh my god she’s swinging her legs. she doesn’t know how cute she looks. everyone can see. everyone’s staring. i hate it. don’t look at her. she’s mine. she should only smile like that for me. i’d put her in my pocket if i could. i’d carry her around everywhere. god, imagine. no one else would get to look at her. just me.’

your heart slammed against your ribs. his head was a cage full of secrets, and he was rattling it so hard you almost thought he’d break.

when practice ended, you walked over with a bottle of water. “good job out there.”

he took it with a quiet “thanks.”

his thoughts? ‘SHE THINKS I DID GOOD. i’d die for her praise. i’d play until my knees gave out if she kept looking at me like that. oh god, her hand brushed mine. i’ll never wash this hand again. wait. i want her to touch it more. everywhere. her fingers in my hair. down my arm. don’t think about that now. not in front of everyone. breathe. act normal. NORMAL.’

you swallowed, fighting the urge to laugh and melt and scream all at once.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

and then came the breaking point.

it was small, stupid, and entirely kuroo’s fault. (kenma’s words, not mine.)

the team had gone to the convenience store together, and kuroo—being kuroo—slung an arm over your shoulder as you browsed the snack aisle.

harmless. casual. friendly.

but kenma saw.

he froze in the middle of the aisle, can of energy drink in hand, and his thoughts went absolutely feral.

‘no. no no no no. get your arm off her. don’t touch her. don’t touch what’s mine. i’ll break it. i’ll break your hand. i’ll smash this can into your face. she’s not yours. she’s not anyone’s. she’s mine. she doesn’t even know it yet. but she will. i’ll make sure she knows. i’ll carve it into the universe if i have to. god, i want to rip him away from her. i want to grab her wrist and drag her out of here. keep her where no one else can touch. no one else can even look. she’d be safe. she’d be mine. mine mine mine.’

his fingers clenched so hard around the can you thought it might burst. his eyes, usually dull and tired, flicked up to kuroo with a sharpness that made your stomach flip.

you gasped quietly, stunned at the rawness of it.

kenma looked away fast, pretending to study the shelves. but his mind wouldn’t shut up.

‘i can’t keep this in. i can’t keep pretending. she’ll slip away. she’ll smile at someone else. she’ll leave me behind. no. no, i won’t let it happen. i’ll tell her. i’ll tell her everything. even if it ruins me. i don’t care anymore. i can’t take it.’

your pulse quickened. was he—?

later that night, when everyone else drifted off home, you found him waiting outside, hood up, switch tucked under his arm like he needed the comfort.

he didn’t look at you when he spoke. “do you… have a minute?”

his thoughts screamed, ‘don’t run. don’t laugh. don’t say no. please. please. i’ll beg if i have to.’

you nodded. “yeah.”

the walk was quiet, filled only with the sound of cicadas and kenma’s head screaming loud enough for you to drown in it.

‘say it. say it now. she’s gonna leave. she’s gonna smile at someone else. i can’t let that happen. i’ll die if it happens. i’ll chain myself to her side if i have to. no one else deserves her. no one else even sees her the way i do. god, i sound insane. i am insane. but i love her. i love her so much it’s eating me alive.’

he stopped under the streetlight, fists buried in his hoodie pocket, shoulders trembling just slightly.

“…i don’t hate you,” he said, voice soft.

you swallowed. “i know.”

his head snapped up, startled.

‘she knows?? she knows?? how?? oh god. oh god. abort. no—don’t abort. it’s too late. she has to know. i’ll tell her. i’ll ruin myself right here.’

“kenma,” you said, heart thudding, “i like you.”

silence.

and then—like a crack in the dam—his thoughts spilled over, wild and unfiltered.

‘she likes me. she likes me. she LIKES ME. holy shit. holy shit. she’s mine. i’ll never let her go. i’ll hold her hand until my fingers fall off. i’ll kiss her until i forget my own name. i’ll keep her so close no one else can even breathe her air. mine. she’s mine. forever. god, i love her. i love her. i love her. i’ll never stop.’

and when he finally smiled, crooked and trembling, when his hand reached for yours with a desperation he couldn’t hide anymore—you didn’t pull away.

you laced your fingers through his, and felt the world go quiet.

for the first time, his mind whispered. finally.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡‎

♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: i alr have an idea on what twist i should put in next.

iloveu

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